Hollowed
by Mille Vera
Summary: The heart never forgets.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**AN: Had to revamp a couple of things. I released this chapter months ago, just to write something different. Now that I'm finished with Hope, however, I can finally turn my full attention to this story. **

**So, please, enjoy. **

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**Hollowed**

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_~New York City, 2003~_

His body trembled in the fur-lined coat. The air was so warm, warmer than he had ever known. He could almost smell the warmth that permeated the slight breeze. Looking around, this place, with its towering steel buildings and legions of people, frightened him. They were like cattle that were being herded, and nobody seemed to notice, or care, like it was a daily ritual.

However, they did notice _him_.

He dressed like a total foreigner. It was only autumn, and he dressed for an arctic expedition. The ushanka that dangled loosely on his head and the thick jacket that concealed his body drew the eyes of many people that passed by, and some even stopped to stare. It was extremely uncomfortable, and all their dirty looks only reminded him that he shouldn't be here; that he didn't _belong_ here.

But, he decided to ignore it in the only way possible for him. Quickly, he darted through the crowd, carving a swath through the onlookers. After reaching a somewhat open area, he looked up toward the skyscrapers. The billboards and advertisements that littered almost every inch of the buildings enticed him with their bright, flashing colors and gimmicks that only fools would pay attention to. Yet, he remembered these products, albeit vaguely: Coca-Cola, Gillette razors, Nokia cell phones, McDonald's, and much, much, more. Slowly, he began to lose himself in the sights of the Big Apple, but before he could stray too far, he heard a loud, clamorous noise. Immediately dropping his eyes, he witnessed a car ease into him, pushing him back onto the crowded sidewalk. After several rude gestures, the angry man in his BMW sped off, and, again, he began to escape.

So, he began walking. To where, it was unknown, but his eyes were glued to the pavement and the occasional sign telling him it was okay to walk. He went where his heart told him too; this is how he got to New York in the first place. Something about this city made him happy; giddy, even. Lost memories that were strewn about had to be located here; he just needed to find them.

As he walked for what seemed like miles, he finally sat on a lone wooden bench next to a newsstand, across the street from an olive green building. This area of the city was _much_ quieter. Instead of rows of expensive stores filled with designer clothing and tall glass high-rises, it was now nothing but small, family owned businesses, and not-so-big apartment buildings.

It was cozy.

The ambiance of the night air made it even better.

Denying another threatening thought from entering his mind, he declared to himself that this would be his place to rest for the night. He didn't need a motel, even though he had enough money to afford a decent one. After all, he had slept in much worse conditions before, and deserved to sleep without the fear of being mauled or eaten.

He looked to both sides, and then upwards. There were no stars, like he was used to. The city lights blocked the natural beauty of God's creations, and all that was left was the black void. Although he wouldn't be staring at the sky for long, it would have been nice to see the various constellations. With everything that's happened, he was glad to remember some of those, at least. _  
_

As he drooped his head downwards, his eye caught something. In the small building ahead, through the large glass window, sat a familiar setting; one that urged to him to recall why he could so easily recognize that orang. As his eyes shifted from the inside to the outside, he read the words emblazoned on the decal.

_Central Perk. _

It rolled off of his tongue. It was so close now, barely out of his grasp. So many cups of coffee. So many casual anecdotes over muffins and scones. But why? What was missing from this dream turned real? He could not answer that himself, that much was sure.

As his eyes closed to the missing link, he saw her. An angel, without wings, turn around from the counter to sit down on the couch. Her eyes were dull from a day of work, but became lustrous as she guzzled the creamy drink. She looked so beautiful, but he couldn't understand why. His brain kept telling him something, but his heart did not listen well enough.

A stray memory came forth, confessing, and his eyes widened while the hands of his subconscious pulled it closer. The spark of the forsaken love ignited a chain reaction, infinitely expanding his mind like the universe, engulfing everything in its confines. Soon, it reached his cold, steel heart, bringing figurative warm cookies and milk.

At that moment, his life changed forever.


	2. Chapter 2: Cracked

**AN: I'm sorry this took so long to update.  
That will change, now. **

**As I'm turning 19 tomorrow, I truly appreciate anyone who reads this.  
Your feedback is the greatest gift I could ask for. **

**So, without further ado, enjoy. **

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A whiff.

_Lemon._

Another.

_No, cotton._

One more, and a flower bloomed in the midst of uncertainty.

_Or… both?_

Again, the pattern of scents presented themselves.

The weak aromas wafted their way around the crammed and crowded room, lightly augmenting the hint of vinyl leather that also drifted through the air. Noticeable, and a bit sweet; not generally something to expect from such a home. If it weren't for coercion, it would be little more than dilapidated. Thin slithers of light accompanied the meek visage, peeking through the off-white blinds, illuminating the dust that gently wisped from the dozens of cardboard lying around.

Each and every speck was met with vehement distaste.

The dingy setting cracked at morale. If it weren't enough, the rapid and badgering sound of the keystrokes made a pass at the eardrums, feeding the mind the reality of the current situation; boredom truly had no bounds, and combined with apathy, it became its own monster. Concentration proved to be hard to maintain. Still, though, each letter popping up on the screen with the simple press of a button, forming word after word, seemed to bring a bounty of peace that came from preoccupation. A simple task like writing proved to be a wonderful distraction from the burdens of the world.

Seconds, minutes, it didn't matter. Green text continued to form on the digital black parchment, keeping the heavy, bustling clamor of thought at the front of the mind, held back by a moat. A moat, running not with water, but with oil; oil necessary to lubricate the cogs of the brain, and keep it safe from harm.

It was so smooth, so _fluid_. Everything was working in an orderly and uniform fashion, like an office, or a military base. Things were where they were supposed to be.

However, when the door flung open, everything changed.

Why, of all times, now?

Why did reality need to thrust itself forward, as if it took joy on disrupting lives? It was like getting punched in the nose, but in a dream; it only hurt until the realization came that it actually didn't.

It took a moment, but clarity returned - with a vengeance. The words on the computer screen dulled themselves out of focus, and became nothing but gibberish. The background came alive, in more ways than one, as a figure walked through the doorway. It was hypnotizing, like staring into the eyes of Medusa. This time, though, no one would turn to stone; instead, their faces would light up at the sight one of their best friends.

"Hi!"

Rachel gave a quick smile, as she bounced toward the fridge. Her leopard skin coat fluttered like a cape in the wind. Ross couldn't find the correct word to describe it, not with the total mental overload that was occurring inside his head at that moment. As she opened the refrigerator door, Rachel looked at Ross, who hadn't responded. The glare he was giving her was unusual, and the way a smile was slowly drawn across his face creeped her out a bit.

"You okay?"

"Huh?" Ross blinked, having been kicked out of his trance. He noticed Rachel's slightly concerned expression, and scrambled for words while flailing his hands in every direction to help explain himself.

"Sorry. Just... thinking."

"Don't think too hard, now. That big ol' brain of yours will explode." Rachel pulled out a bottle of water and stuffed it into her purse, along with most of the remaining un-spoiled foods.

Ross scoffed at her remark, as he resumed his typing for a second. However, now that he couldn't focus, his attention returned to Rachel. Fresh with conversation, Ross tilted his head past the screen, and spoke towards her, hands now resting on his knees instead of the computer.

"So what's up with you?"

"Oh, Monica and I are going out for a bit, and then we're coming back for Danny's party." Rachel stated matter-of-factly, as she closed the refrigerator door. Her body jerked back into its normal posture, and her eyes went back to Ross's, which she now noticed were slightly bloodshot.

"Sounds fun." His eyes widened, feigning interest for her sake.

"Hope so. I've got him right where I want him. Tonight, he'll be _**begging **_me to go out with him." Her catlike sneer reeked of ambition, and it was fierce; perhaps more than she had intended, as the brief pause following her announcement fostered questions.

"Why don't you just ask him out?" The question that had racked her again and again by Monica was now being asked by Ross. Knowing that he was a bit more receptive of her ways, however, Rachel decided to plainly state her reasoning, rather than provoke a disagreement.

"Because, if I do, it'll make me seem desperate." Rachel watched Ross's brow furrow in confusion, knowing full well that he would react this way. Pride was something he always had, but never truly understood; especially when it came to saving face in a potential romance.

"You did it with that Josh guy."

In an instant, a vital chord had been struck. Why did he have to bring that up? More importantly, why did he have to say in such a careless and haphazard manner, as if it were a fly on the wall that was easily killed?

Rachel could feel the smack. It stung, remembering the crash-and-burn relationship with Joshua, which failed miserably because of the jealousy and hatred of an ex-boyfriend and the British thorn on his shoulder. Joshua didn't deserve to be used like a weapon. Rachel really wanted a serious, meaningful relationship with him, but once Emily came into their lives, it turned into a landslide, and then an avalanche.

Ross looked on; he could see that in her intense gaze, Rachel was visibly hurt. It didn't take him long to feel the gravity of his words.

"S-Sorry."

Rachel felt a surge of warmth flow through her body. She had flown back into herself, from watching up above how foolish and asinine she looked just standing there, like an idiot. What Ross said wasn't even that bad; he had it much worse than she could possibly imagine, so he deserved to be cut some slack.

"No biggie." Rachel's regained her composure with a simple flip of her hair, and forced a reluctant smile out of her shell.

Ross wanted to apologize again, but knew that it wouldn't help; it would only make it worse. So, he clamped his mouth shut, hoping that somehow, Rachel would advance their tète-à-tète. Thankfully, his wish was granted when she walked past him into the living room, allowing him to look back at his computer, pretending to work.

"So uh, where are the guys?" She spun on her heel, pondering random and often useless trivia.

"Getting pizza." Ross's monotone voice kept his mind on his work; miraculously, it worked,

"What are you doing then?" She walked over to his computer, squinting her eyes as the words on the screen came into focus. Many of them, Rachel couldn't even pronounce, let alone figure out what they meant.

"I have to finish this stupid report for the museum." Ross groaned, divulging himself back into his work, hoping to return to the same funk he was in earlier before he lost his train of thought. However, Rachel picked up on his harsher-than-intended tone, and called him on it.

"It's hard?"

"Well, not really, but I'm just so worn out with everything that's happened, y'know? And today, one of the other scientists quit, so they stuck me with the workload." Ross rose his voice in meek frustration, angry at the curve in difficulty that suddenly popped out of nowhere in his life.

"Sounds rough."

"No kidding. Damned megaraptor."

He snickered, bluffing comfort for his otherwise destitute situation. It seemed to fool Rachel, at least; then again, many things fooled her, and when it came to Ross's job, she knew absolutely nothing. To counter-balance their lack of mutual interest, Rachel decided to touch up on a sensitive subject.

"So, erm, how are you doing?" She knew that Ross had been asked that question a million times since the divorce and now the subsequent eviction, but it seemed as though it needed to be asked again; this time, by the one person who truly needed to know.

"What do you mean?"

"You know… Emily. This." Rachel gestured toward the unkempt room, littered with several small 'Ross' trinkets; these included both fake and authentic dinosaur bones, and replicas of ancient artifacts. Rachel had believed Ross to have a terrible taste when it came to home decoration, but, he liked it, and it wasn't as if he was living with her; therefore, she had no say.

"Oh. Um... I'm okay, I guess. I mean, Joey and Chandler have been really great roommates, and they've done so much to help me take my mind off of everything." His tepid voice began to show, and it became obvious that he wasn't as happy as he let on. Rachel accepted his answer, regardless.

"That's good."

"It is."

A prolonged silence followed their exchange, as they ached for something else to talk about. Both of them were still awkward toward each other; Ross because being close to Rachel made him remember saying her name at the altar, which he **_hated_**, and Rachel because she confessed her love for him barely a month ago. While they had a good laugh when they found the place they were in, it still rung a bell in Rachel's ears.

It rung so loud, in fact, that Rachel couldn't hear Monica calling her from around the door.

Again, she was dazed, but managed to stay on her feet. Once she was aware of her surroundings again, Rachel rushed for the door, shoulder-checking Monica; despite this, she was not so rude as to leave without saying goodbye.

"If you need me, I'll be at a fake regatta gala."

"O-kay."

Ross was stunned in his own way, but found the solace he needed on the counter in front of him.

And on the screen, sat one word that caught his wavering eye: Emily.

Without warning, Ross immediately brought his hands to the keyboard, and began typing senseless prattle. A river of anger and sorrow began to flow through him, fleshing out the last couple of months like a stale wound being picked apart. Each day since the wedding, this happened; Ross falsely believed that the more emotional he became, the easier it would be to face his mistakes and overcome them. Sadly, it only became worse. He didn't want to feel like this, anymore. He wanted the pain to go away. Emily was gone, now. It was time to move on; time to recover.

Ross didn't know how long it would take or how hard it would be; he had to do it, not just for him, but for his friends as well. Joey and Chandler had made it clear that he had a few things to work on if they were going to get along as roommates; Ross counted that as the first step.

The first step, on the first day.

As his mind rocked back and forth with weighted thoughts, Ross tried losing himself in his work in one last desperate attempt. His gleaming eyes settled on the screen, finding his the last legible word he had written: Forget.

The word branded itself into his mind.

_Forget. _

He repeated it, over and over again.

All the while, his heart drifted, like a soul lost in the flames of chaos.


	3. Chapter 3: Mercy

**AN: Well, my birthday rocked, thanks to all of you.  
I'm sorry this chapter took a while, but I promise you, very soon, it will be worth it. **

**Enjoy.**

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Ross kept running, as if there were a destination. Each step was but another mile toward freedom. It took more and more of a toll on the body, and yet, there was no pain. His legs did not ache, nor did they falter. The blankets of snow did nothing to slow the pace of the sprint, and the harsh crunching of twigs went unheard through the roars of the creature behind him. In every regard, fear should have presented itself, but it did not.

All that mattered was finding the way out.

He couldn't think anymore. His instincts told him to keep going, but his brain told him to accept his fate. Why, of all times, did Ross have to have an internal conflict now? Every passing second was sealing his fate into a bottle, where it would remain forever. A choice had to be made, and it had to be made now.

So, he closed his eyes. He closed his eyes, and pictured everything around him; they were only there because he allowed them to be. Reality was never as it seemed; the past several months proved that notion. Things were always fading in and out, like a dream.

_A dream._

The word rang in his head, just as the another from the night before did. It was bell, struck by a bullet .The surrounding forest shattered into pieces like a broken mirror, revealing the darkness that had laid in hiding. Every leaf that fell from the tree came screened onto a piece of sharpened glass, cutting open the ground, where he felt the shockwaves of the quake that followed.

Ross was right. It was a dream; one that was now falling apart right in front of him. However, as each piece broke away into the stream of black, he could smell the weak scent of the pine forest; he could feel the snow nipping at his feet; but most of all, he could feel the pain that came from running so far, in such harsh conditions.

Without further warning, Ross fell to the ground. His body shivered in the cold embrace of the white flurry beneath him, and he almost froze as he heard the beast cry behind him. Piece by piece, the ground came apart, and yet, he knew that there was nothing to fear.

So, as his arm fell, he opened his eyes to nothing.

Nothing, but a lock of golden hair.

And so, Ross had awoken. The combined stench of his wool sweater combined with the metallic heat given off by his computer did the job better than any brand of smelling salts. Getting his bearings together, he lifted his head up, and looked on the screen; there was his report, as he had left it.

Eagerly, Ross placed his creased and callous hands on the keyboard, ready to finish this once and for all. His fingers began moving, albeit slowly; this was quite the feat for Ross, though, as his hands were still numb from laying his head on them. The tingling sensation that followed made him laugh a bit, unable to continue for a bit.

Through his laughter, Ross heard the toilet flushing.

To this end, he turned his head toward the bathroom, and was greeted to a horrible sight. It was not a person, nor a thing he saw, but the sunshine that beat down on him through the open window. Tantalized, but not gone, Ross hastily looked at the clock by the sink, his heart heavy with grief.

_7:00 a.m._

His eyes glazed over the green LED display, and hoped that this was but another dream.

It wasn't.

Immediately, Ross began hyperventilating. He had to be at work in under an _**hour**_, with a finished report; his boss, Donald, was going to murder him if he came in without it. There was no way to avoid it; nowhere to run or hide. There were no alternative options, either. Calling in sick was out of the question; most of his vacation days were spent moving in and out of Emily's cousin's and the guys' apartment. However, faking illness wouldn't have helped in any way, as he needed a hard copy on his boss's desk in noon.

In every manner, he was screwed.

As he realized this, Ross shot up out of his stool, knocking it onto the ground. His hand palmed his dampened forehead, and he stomped the wooden floor in anger. Chandler, who had just come out of the bathroom, noticed this, and hurried over to his distressed friend.

"What's wrong?" Chandler stopped just short of Ross's elbow, which stuck out like a growth from his head, ready to give him a bloody nose.

"I fell asleep! I was supposed to finish this thing for work, and I fell asleep! Gah, my boss is gonna _kill_ me!" Ross's hands shifted from gesturing his computer to smacking himself in the head. Panic washed over him, as he now tried to figure out what to do whilst simultaneously explaining his situation to Chandler.

"Why-why can't you just ask to, y'know, extend the deadline?"

"I can't! This was supposed to be done a week ago!" Ross's yells hurt his ears, but he managed to shake it off long enough to allow the reprimanding to begin.

"And you _just_ started it? This is not the Ross I know." Chandler mockingly shook his head at his friend.

"It's not my fault! The guy who was in charge of this quit yesterday, and took everything he wrote with him! I had to start from scratch. Now I'm gonna get fired!" Ross raised his voice even higher, slamming the counter with his fist. Without realizing it, he woke up Joey.

"Isn't that a little unreasonable?"

Ross couldn't find an answer at that moment; his emotions were much too busy running rampant through his body and mind, destroying everything in their path. Somehow, not finishing one measly paper truly upset Ross to the point where he almost cried in front of his closest friend. Ross had to do something besides put himself in total hysteria.

It took only a second, but he managed to put everything in perspective.

He had lost his wife. He had lost his home. Now, he had convinced himself that he was on the brink of losing his job. That was pretty much the only thing he _could_ lose, now, other than his friends, which had time and time again proved that they would stick by him, no matter what. So, even if he were fired, he would still have them. He also had a savings account to fall back on. It wouldn't be _too_ bad, would it? After all, with everything that had happened, work should be the least of his worries; the only reason he was panicking was because he chose to.

"I- If I had just stayed awake, I know that I would've finished this. This is just, the worst thing ever." Ross whined, finally lowering his voice to an acceptable level.

"Dude, come on. I'm sure you'll be fine." Chandler patted his best friend on the back, hoping to console him. Ross usually never became so upset like this; he usually just kept to himself, and stayed away from everything, including his friends. This time, however, it was different; he was genuinely scared.

"What's goin' on?" Joey walked out of his bedroom, rubbing his eyes. He couldn't help but awaken from the screaming and noise coming from the living room, so, being the good samaritan that he was, checked it out.

"It's just- why me, y'know?" Ross glanced at Joey, before returning to Chandler for one last snippet of gripe. He hated how things were turning out for him, regardless of whether he had control over them or not. It hurt, life. A cruel temptress indeed, when fortune favored the fortunate. The pain was almost unbearable.

However, Ross was smart enough to channel this pain into something positive.

So, he turned to Joey, putting everything he had into calming down.

"I, uh, couldn't finish this work thing in time." While the pain in his voice was evident, it was not enough to break his fa_ç_ade.

"So?"

"So? My career depended on this, Joey."

"On what? This essay or whatever?" Joey, still waking up, strolled over to the counter, arms crossed, bending over to get a better look at the words on the screen; as expected, he did not understand many of them. It was an orgy of -sauruses and -raptors, with some exotic ones on the side, such as -don, and -ia. A true smorgasbord for the geek people.

"You don't understand how important that is, Joey."

"Must be pretty important then, since I can't understand any of it."

Joey laughed at his own joke, causing both Ross and Chandler to roll their eyes. Sighing, Ross shut the lid on his laptop in an almost cruel response, before putting it back in his bag on the counter. It was obvious that he had no time for jokes, as usual. The divorce and eviction had taken his sense of humor from him; not that he had much to begin with, anyway.

"Alright, look. I have to get ready for work. What are you guys doing tonight?" He rushed for the bathroom, ready to take the quickest shower of his life. Ross wanted to change the subject to anything, just so that he'd be distracted.

"Dinner at Monica's." Chandler pointed his thumb toward the girls' apartment.

"Okay. I'll probably come home late."

"Why?" His brow furrowed; Ross _never_ came home later than he had to. It became a staple of his character ever since he and Rachel began fighting over it on the eve of their break-up. He knew that in order to upstage her, he had to stay away from hypocrisy.

"Hey, I just lost my job. First thing I should do is drown my sorrows." Ross took the initiative to think that things were always going to be worse than they really were; it was a by-product of being so downtrodden and unlucky, along with losing most of the dignity he was famous for keeping close to his side.

"What a drama queen."

Joey's lewd comment seemed to pest Ross more than anything. The dirtiest look was now given, along with a side of anger. Noticing this, Joey regretfully backed away to Chandler's side. Of course, his heart was in the right place; he did want Ross to get over this, but mocking him was certainly not the correct way.

Without further argument, Ross headed into the bathroom, ready to lose himself in thought within the streams of warm water that cascaded down his body.

x..x..x..x..x..x

Chandler walked through the green door, facing the bright and vibrant purple walls that he had grown accustomed to. His angel waited for him in her black and grey plaid robe, and her shoulder length flaxen hair was soon warming his fingers.

"God, you're so beautiful. You just wake up?" He gave her a soft kiss on the forehead, noting how soft and beautiful her alabaster skin was, and how good she smelled; it was certainly better than coffee beans and sunflowers that were advertised in commercials.

"Of course not. You think I'd look good if I did?" Monica chuckled, putting her hand through her freshly shampooed-hair, feeling how soft it was compared to the usual rag she had when she woke up. Growing it out was a bittersweet investment, but Chandler liked it, so she did it. Little did she know, however, that Chandler didn't care; he would think her beautiful even if her head shined in the sun.

"Well, you always do."

Monica couldn't help but smile at his flattery; none of their friends really knew how romantic he could really be. It was like reading one of those trashy romance novels, but more special; this was Chandler, of one of her best friends. It was better with him than with anyone else, because of this bond of friendship.

On the other end, Chandler watched her scarlet lips draw themselves into a thin but gorgeous smile. He knew very well that Monica was the most beautiful woman he had ever gone out with. Not only that, but with her, he felt different. Usually, he'd be insecure and be convinced that he was being cheated on. With Monica, it was different.

He was happy.

He'd stare into her crystal-blue eyes, forever, if he could. Chandler didn't think so much as he did bask in her gaze. Monica did the very same, as she looked up at him. Their hearts began to pace, and Monica decided that it was time to continue to why they were really together, at that moment.

"Rachel's at work. Phoebe's playing at the coffeehouse." Her words were quick, as the urges that had been subsided only last night began to surface again. Her smile grew further, seductively enchanting Chandler to carry on with the dirty deed.

"Ross just left."

Monica growled, and jumped into Chandler's frail arms, which became stronger when handling such precious cargo. He took her into the bedroom, where they would share each other for several hours, or days, or whenever.

As long as no one else found out.


	4. Chapter 4: Ultimatum

**AN: Well, my computer broke, so I couldn't update until I bought a new one today.  
I'm just glad I didn't leave you guys when this story really picked up.**

**Anyway, now that I'm back, enjoy.**

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The fridge held many items, mostly spoiled, but not the most important one at that moment: Milk. Joey cursed himself, and Chandler, for not picking up more, unaware that Rachel had taken the last of it. Sighing, he closed the door, and decided to head over to Monica's for breakfast.

As he opened the always-unlocked door to her apartment, Joey noticed that it was empty; no Monica, no Rachel, not even Phoebe. It wasn't a big deal, but he preferred to eat with his friends. However, he passed it off, and simply poured himself a bowl of generic corn flakes.

As he sat at the table, through his crunching, Joey could hear soft moans coming from Monica's bedroom. His first guess was that Monica was pleasuring herself to _him_, but, after a bit of reluctant thinking, he figured that her and Chandler were having sex. Quietly, he stood from the table, and tiptoed over to the bedroom door in an attempt to hear better. The noises became louder, and then soft, and then repeated in the same manner. Pressing his ear against the purple maple, Joey could even make out several words; most of them were just of the couple calling each other's names.

Joey laughed to himself, still denying that someone as sexy as Monica would be moaning Chandler's name in bed. He was so lost in his reverie, though, that he didn't hear Rachel come through the door.

"Joey? What are you doing?" She paced over to him, confused as to why he was listening into Monica's bedroom.

"Erm, n-nothing." He jumped, having been exposed to eavesdropping on Monica and Chandler's good time. He faced Rachel as calmly as he could, although the trepidation in his voice gave him away. Hastily, he formulated a plan to keep her from finding out about the secret couple; it was as brutish as brutish could be.

"But-" Rachel was cut off by a very rushed question.

"What are _you_ doing, hm?" Joey placed his hands on his hips, like he was interrogating her.

"I uh, forgot my briefcase-" Rachel pointed toward her room, flinging her scarf.

"Got it!"

Joey hopped over the couch and into Rachel's room, where he immediately spotted her brown leather briefcase on the far side of her bed. As he bent over to get it, he made sure to inhale most of the sweet scent that permeated the room. He always loved Monica's apartment better than his own, mainly because it didn't smell like bird droppings half the time.

As Joey pulled it from the floor, he sped back to Rachel, who was looking more confused than ever; he disregarded this, and pushed the briefcase into her chest hard, thereby pushing her out of the apartment before she could say another word. In her dazed state, Rachel chose not to ask any more questions, and instead go back to work, speechless.

Joey sat down at the table once more, happy with his abilities; Chandler and Monica owed him big time for this.

x..x..x..x..x..x

That night, dinner sat on the table; steak, fish, potatoes, steamed vegetables, all leftover from the restaurant. Even with such sparse ingredients, Monica went all out for her friends, which they greatly appreciated. She even ensured that Ross's food would be nice and hot for him when he came in from working late.

"I told you, I'm not scared of anything!" Joey announced, pointing at himself.

"**_Hah_**! Remember when we watched Backdraft? You were scared to open doors for a _month_!" Chandler laughed at his friend, remembering how scared he was whenever he had to leave the apartment; it was truly an amusing sight, and their friends agreed.

"That's just good sense, dude!" Joey rebuked.

"Yeah, well, checking for heat on _every_ door we went through got pretty annoying, Joe."

"Look, man, I'm just trying to protect us, alright? Wh-What if I'm the only one who can save us from a burning building? Huh?" Joey knew that he had stepped into the wolves' den at this point, but he kept his ground. Chandler already had a witty comeback to fire at him, which caused panic spread over him like a brush fire. Joey knew that he was going to be ridiculed in front of his friends, but he didn't know it would only be five simple words.

"Then we're all gonna die."

Joey rolled his eyes as his friends chuckled at his demise, wishing that he had something witty to say. His arms crossed on his chest, and he pouted in defeat.

"Oh, Joey. You know we're kidding." Rachel playfully slapped his arm, as she reached for another scoop of mashed potatoes. Again, he rolled his eyes, dismissing her statement. He chose to change the subject before he embarrassed himself further.

"So, Rach," Joey turned toward his fashionista friend. "How'd it go with Danny last night?"

"Ugh. It was horrible! I mean, there we are, talking in the hallway, and all of a sudden, he introduces me to his friend, and says that 'we'll make a great couple'!" Rachel's air quotes showed her sarcasm more than anything, and she didn't hold back when it came to her own personal foil.

"Ha, ouch."

"Yeah. Either he doesn't get it, or he's just messing with me!" She whined, spreading her arms out in frustration. Rachel hated being played in such a way, especially by a guy she liked so much. It was like torture, of the highest order. She wondered if this is how many of her former lovers felt.

"Or maybe it's _both_." Phoebe chimed in, pointing her finger at Rachel.

"How can it be both?" Rachel wondered, baffled.

"Maybe, he likes you too. But he doesn't know how to show it, so he concocted this grand scheme to make _you_ plan to get with him." She smirked at her own genius, having created an acceptable answer for Rachel, as she did with everything and everyone to the point of misery.

"That doesn't make any sense, Pheebs."

"That's what he _wants_ you to think." She revoked, matter-of-factly.

"I keep telling you, Rach. Just ask him out." Monica grudgingly pestered Rachel to ask Danny out again; a trend that erupted on their first date, but she proved to be more stubborn than herself or Ross when it came to relationships. It was the _man_ who asked _her_ out; not the other way around. That's the way it had always been, and that was how it was going to stay.

_No exceptions._

So, before Monica could get off another word in edgewise, Rachel shoved her hand in her roommate's face, promptly showing her opinion on the request. It was certainly more than enough to drive the conversation away from herself and her potential mate. Seeing this, the rest of the group sat in silence that quickly broke into laughter, and, within seconds, had resumed their friendly chatter. This time, it would be about every one else's relationships.

Phoebe told everyone of how she dumped Larry the Health Inspector. It was not even the next day they had began dating, yet he already broke his first and last promise to Phoebe of not shutting down a place during their dates. At first, it was quite a turn-on, witnessing such power at work. However, when he threatened to close down Central Perk, Phoebe drew the line; Larry then promised he wouldn't be his work self on their dates. Only two hours ago, though, he shut down a measly hot-dog vendor as they passed the park; Phoebe didn't want to, but she had to end it.

Monica and Chandler had fabricated their own stories earlier that day, knowing that the topic of relationships would be brought up at dinner; something that they would usually dread, but in secret, they were prepared. Chandler's story was easy; he'd just say that he was rejected at a bar or a club, which was usually the case before he began dating Monica. Her, on the other hand, made up an extravagant story of how this handsome stranger approached her in the kitchen, complimenting her on her meal. They kissed, and he pushed her onto the stove. It was unrealistic, and Chandler could barely contain his laughter. But after a quick pinch, everyone's attention to the now black-sheep of the group.

Joey, as usual, was hovering through women; there was nothing strange about that.

For the next hour, they enjoyed each other's company, only with the vague wish that Ross would show up and join them already.

It didn't take long for it to come true.

As Monica opened the door to her apartment, she caught not her brother, ready to sit down and enjoy dinner with his friends, but her _brother_, the man who just got divorced twice and now had a new problem arising.

"Hi." He said, in a way that only he could.

"H-Hi. Are you okay?" Monica asked, worry in her eyes. When he didn't respond, she took his work bag and lead him over to the table. Ross slouched as if he had nothing else to live for; the gang was ready to both console and berate him for bringing down the mood of the evening, based only on the way he trudged over to the table. However, they couldn't; instead, they just watched in concern as he stood before them, flustered and despondent. Ross looked at each of them before he spoke in his depressing tone.

"I'm going to Russia."

He could see by their dumbfounded looks that either they didn't hear him correctly, or that he was still dreaming; he hoped it was the latter. As he look at the widened eyes of his friends, he knew that he needed to explain further. Before he could, though, Monica exposed her disbelief, placing her hand on his arm like a mother to her child.

"_What_?"

"R-Russia." Ross bleakly stated, still reeling from the blow of going to work that day.

"The country?" Joey asked, repeating it in the same manner he did during the China fiasco. Ross just nodded at this, still visually disturbed. He didn't want this to be such a big deal, but, unfortunately, it was; if he didn't go, there would be major consequences.

"Wha- Why?"

"Okay. Dr. Ledbetter, my boss," He worriedly stated, pointing his fingers out toward his friends, in an attempt to maintain physical composure. "I uh, didn't have that report I needed to do for him, and, well, he said that if I was anyone else, I would have been fired right there." In a way, he was proud; Ross was one of the greater assets at the Museum, and as a result had great job security after working there for so many years. Something that threatened that would have to be quite a big deal.

"Hey, that's great!" Joey declared.

"No. Hah. No, I uh, I have to make it up with field research." His voice became stern.

"In _Russia?_" Monica flung her arm away from Ross, backing up slowly. Her voice raised in pitch, to a level suited for ample obscurity. Ross meekly backed away from her, his mood turning from sadness to disheartened fear. For some strange reason, Monica didn't like her brother going to the frozen wasteland; however, this was mainly due to the major holiday coming up.

"Yeah."

"Wh- How long are you gonna be gone?" Phoebe asked, setting her napkin down on her lap.

"A week. Maybe two." Ross obviously didn't see what was wrong with all of this.

"Wha... Wait! What about Thanksgiving? They can't make you do this!" Monica screeched, frightening the rest of their friends, who, up until this point, were only alarmed. Now, they were going to face the true motherly nature of Monica. Tradition meant a lot to her, and the thought of spending Thanksgiving without her brother made her fuming.

"Look, Mon, it'll be fine. Besides, this is actually a good opportunity for me. Digs always look good on a resumé." Despite the unnatural situation he was placed in, Ross tried to look at the positives; this _was_ a great opportunity, and it would be an even greater chance to take his mind off of the past few months. In all respects, this was good news.

"But-" Monica was cut off.

"Look. My work is all I have now. If I don't do this, I'm probably gonna lose my job. I have to go." Ross was almost certain that he wouldn't actually get fired, but still, the faster he could dodge questions, the better. He watched as his friends soaked in the information, still in disbelief that the Museum would make him stay through Thanksgiving, of all things. It was wrong.

"W-When?" Rachel asked, as shocked as everyone else.

"Tomorrow morning."

Ross's lip quivered, as he watched the stares of his friends. Joey seemed to be the first one to continue eating, as it really wasn't that big of a big deal. Phoebe seemed indifferent, although secretly she wished that all of them would be here for Thanksgiving. Rachel followed this, although it bothered her more than it should have. Chandler took on Monica's surprise, mostly due to the fact that if he showed even a smidgen of something other than what she felt, Monica would have his head; of course, it was in his head that this crazy idea originated.

"Hey, the good part is, though, that the museum isn't funding the trip. I get to ride on a private jet and stay in a pre-tty fancy hotel." Ross added boldly, trying to break the silence.

"Well... I guess- Okay. Fine. Um, here's your dinner." Monica led him over to his place on the table, where a steak and mashed potatoes awaited his maw.

"Thanks, Mon." He gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

Ross hungrily sat down, with Monica following, the air still thick with tension. However, Ross's depressed mood seem to lighten; it was only that way in the first place because he fret telling his friends that once again, he had failed. Joey and Chandler already knew, but the girls were more prone to judging him; Phoebe and Rachel, especially. Once the thought of being fired left his mind, he could laugh with his friends at dinner before he left. Joey joked that Ross would bring back a Russian woman with a name similar to Julie's; something that Ross, and secretly Rachel, didn't want to hear.

Even though it had been over a month, she still harbored feelings for him; the day that she had confessed her love for him seemed like yesterday.

Now, for some reason, she couldn't stop repeating the events in her head; why did she have to start laughing? If she had kept it serious, they could be together again, at this moment. What really bugged her though, was whether that was truly what she wanted. Rachel did like Ross, but she was unsure of whether she wanted to go down that road with him, again.

In the end, as dinner came to a close, she decided to pass it off for tomorrow. Rachel knew that she needed to think about what she really wanted. While it was a serious matter, Rachel laughed to herself; it was exactly the same as when she found out about his feelings over three years ago, when he went to China.

It was a turbulent wave that Ross and Rachel rode; their feelings often clashed.

However, under every whirlpool of passion, laid still waters; these, in turn, held tsunamis.


	5. Chapter 5: Strife

**AN: Thanks for the reviews, everyone.  
Nothing warms my icy heart more than you guys. **

**I wrote this chapter with a particular person in mind.  
One who I still love and draw inspiration from, every day. **

**As a last note, for those of you who've read Hope, I'll make sure that this story blows it out of the water. **

**Enjoy. **

* * *

A month's worth of clothing was thrown into the black leather suitcase, along with several toiletries; Ross preferred to use his own instead of the hotel's. Not because of sanitation, but because he wanted to bring them back and show them off to his friends. They were always in an uproar when it came to foreign things, no matter how small or worthless they actually were. Even though they'd be from Hotel Lenin, the premiere inn Ross would be staying at as he'd forgotten the actual name of the establishment, in the heart of Russia, which, to them, wasn't exactly on the same cultural level as France or Spain, he could bring them Matryoshka dolls for compensation.

He also made sure to pack a couple of coats, seeing as it was approaching winter and the former Soviet Union wasn't exactly known for its heat. Ross understood that all of this field work needed be done before it got any colder, and why he was the one that had to go. He only hoped that it would secure his job so he wouldn't have any more broken pieces of his life to pick up. Also, in case he _was_ fired, or decided to eventually leave, he would have a nice little addition to his resumé to be hired for something bigger, if something like that even existed.

It wasn't worth losing a job, but he'd gotten so used to forcing out the good from the bad, it became second nature.

Shaking himself from his daydream, Ross zipped up the main compartment of his suitcase, and opened one of the side pockets and began stuffing his over-the-counter cold and sleep medicine inside. The small bottles of Alka-Seltzer and Nyquil proved to be overkill, but, with Ross, it was better to have it and not need it than vice-versa.

"Ross?" It was unmistakable- Monica. She walked into the apartment, her black boots clicking against the wooden floor.

"Yeah?"

"The guys are waiting downstairs." She stated, stepping further inside. Ross promised to have one last pizza with his roommates before his departure, although this was more of a weekly ritual than anything; it was Friday. On Friday, they had pizza. Joey wouldn't allow exceptions; not even when it was something as crucial as this. He believed the only way for Ross to get over his troubles was pizza, beer, and strip clubs; all of which worked on himself, with varying results on others.

"Gotcha." Ross responded, zipping up the small black sleeve, now filled with medicine to battle a hundred colds. He made one last mental patdown of everything, and turned to face his sister, who was in wonder of how he could pack without her supreme guidance.

"You're done?" Monica asked, her mouth agape.

"Pretty much." He replied, shrugging his shoulders. He looked at the beams that shot out from Monica's pupils, and knew that she wasn't going to let him go without dealing with one of her many mental checklists. Sighing, Ross raised his eyebrows, showing Monica that he wanted nothing more than to get this over with.

"Did you pack long johns?" She hooked her index fingers together, checking off the first of her items. Ross stared at her as if she'd transformed into a hideous monster; he'd never owned a pair of long johns in his entire life, nor did he know anybody who did. New York was never _that_ cold.

"I don't _have_ long johns," Ross blinked rapidly. "I have pajamas, like a normal person."

"Ross, it's cold up there. And you're going to wear pajamas outside?" She responded, placing her hands on her hips and reprimanding him with nothing more than the sweetest smile she could give. Monica could see that he was relenting within a second, and knew that her brother would soon follow her way.

"Fine. I'll get some, I guess. But really, Mon, what is this, 1955?"

"It's not like anyone's going to _see_ them." Monica scoffed, rolling her eyes. She loved it when an opportunity to make fun of her brother's lack of a sex life. "Do you have wool socks?" She continued, ignoring the dirty look he was giving her.

"Yes, mom." Ross groaned, cocking his head to the side in a whiny manner. He didn't understand why they had to go through this; she didn't do this when he went to China. Why now? Was she just looking out for him? Ross didn't know. He just knew that Monica was being more and more like their mom.

"Fleece-lined jacket?"

"_Yes_."

"Hey! I'm just trying to help you!" Monica snapped, pointing her finger into his face.

"Mon, I'm a big boy. I know how to dress and what to pack, okay?" He gestured toward himself, ready to move past this stupid little predicament. he appreciated Monica's noble intent, but he wasn't a child. He was a grown man, and was much smarter than her; that was a fact.

"_Fine_." She hissed, playfully.

Both of them stuck their tongues out at each other in jest, as Ross took his suitcase and rolled it over by the counter for when he was ready to depart. He led his sister back to her apartment, where Rachel was quietly mulling over her own feelings, and headed downstairs for what would be his last quality pizza for weeks.

x..x..x..x..x..x

The three of them stood at the chrome-polished table, as Ross took the first bite from a slice of pepperoni pizza with extra cheese. As usual, it melted in his mouth, cooling him down from the light blankets of snow that engulfed the streets. Ross could only imagine how bad it would be when he stepped off the plane in Moscow. The very thought made him shiver in the steam that rose from the mozzarella-covered ambrosia. Joey and Chandler didn't notice it, thankfully, as they were engrossed in their own conversation, which was promptly blocked out.

Ross wanted to start thinking, about anything; anything to bring him out of this world, and into one where he would be happy, if only for a second.

However, it would not be so easy. Blanks were drawn across the vastness of Ross's mind, depriving him of escape. He needed inspiration; something so rare, it had eluded him in favor of despair. It had been so long since the wedding; so long since he had anything to be happy about. He was caught in a downward spiral so strong, like a current sucking him into darkness. The strength to pick himself back up did not come easily; his friends, his family, the only people he could truly count on, had sacrificed so much for his happiness. His divorce from Carol, his divorce from Emily; they had always been there.

Still, Ross could only feel the chill of his own heart. His friends couldn't help him with everything; he had to do some things on his own. His emotional scarring would heal, but did he truly have the tenacity to weather any more blows? Ross was never left time inbetween to recover; only suffer.

The biggest blow, however, was knowing that he had brought this on himself.

He had never meant to say Rachel's name at the altar. To this day, he still didn't understand _why_ he did. His friends agreed that it was solely because she had surprised him by showing up at the wedding, but now, Ross was unsure. She had caught him completely off-guard, but that wasn't good enough reason to replace Emily with her in his marital oath. Ross could still recall it as if it were yesterday, and it was still a painful memory; Emily's face turning from joy to terror in one swift motion made him swallow hard, letting his slice of pizza limp in his hand. She didn't deserve that; nobody did. It was only right she be angry with him, and watchful of Rachel. Even when the rest of his friends knew she had taken it too far, in Ross's eyes, both then and now, Emily had every right to act the way she did.

It was nothing short of a miracle that she hadn't broken him off at the wedding, anyway.

Ross loved Emily; at least, he thought he did. After the divorce, his feelings became more and more obscured, and he didn't know what to think, or what to feel. It was strange; part of him wanted to cling onto Emily, holding onto that last shred of hope that dangled in front of his face, taunting him. The other part wanted to do the healthy thing, and move on; however, Ross what hard-pressed on believing that he would never find love again. He wanted a sign of what to do; something black-and-white to command him in the darkness.

Little did he know, that sign stood so plainly in front of him, along with Joey's hand.

"Dude?" He asked, a little creeped out by Ross's stone cold gaze at the glass door of the pizzeria. "You alright?" Joey looked over at Chandler, who was just as concerned. Ross shook his head, pulling himself from his deep thought; he couldn't complain that he didn't have anything to think about anymore.

"Er- Sorry. Just um, thinking." Ross gestured, having been thoroughly and efficiently bummed out. He knew that thinking about Emily would only make him sad, and yet, he did it anyway; with every anguished thought came a shred of happiness from the time they had shared together. It was one of the greatest times of his life.

"Emily?"

"Yeah." Ross replied, his voice bleak and listless.

Joey and Chandler glanced at each other, knowing that it was still a delicate subject, and approaching it required care. They chose to let their friend be, however, and continued to eat their pizza. At the same time, Ross's eyes began wandering around the room, looking at each person that sat around. They were laughing, like they didn't have a care in the world. It was beautiful and tragic at the same time. They didn't have divorces to deal with, nor had they been forcefully taken away from their homes. They hadn't lost everything, yet.

And, as Ross's silent rant continued, several couples walked in, hands held as the love between them flourished.

He'd give everything to feel that, just one more time.

"Hey. You guys." Ross broke the silence between them, his voice riddled with trepidation. Joey and Chandler looked up at him without saying a word, to spare whatever feelings he may have exposed. They could tell by the look in his eyes exactly what this conversation would pertain to; however, one major detail was off.

"This is gonna sound weird."

"Go for it." Joey urged.

"Why-" Ross withdrew himself a bit, and took a deep breath for what he was about to take off his chest. "Why did you think I said Rachel's name at the wedding?"

Ross trembled under his own weight, and, suddenly, it felt as though his jacket was strangling him. He almost felt nauseous. Rachel was an old topic- one that all three of them had grown sick of talking about, especially when it came to something as irrelevant as the wedding. Both Chandler and Joey had an answer to the question, but whether or not Ross wanted to hear them was the main obstacle.

"Is this is a uh, _trick_ question?" Chandler asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"No. I'm.. I'm serious." It was hard for Ross to bring the words out; but, he managed to pull it off. He didn't think it would end up with them discussing it over pizza, but for some odd reason, he had to talk about it, and he had to talk about it now. Something was desperately nagging him to get it off of his chest.

"Well, I always thought it was 'cause you _loved_ her." Chandler mocked him, in good spirit, although Ross's reaction wasn't what he expected. However, his statement did in fact reflect his observations; even though at the time he was much too busy with Monica, he did feel sympathy for Ross, knowing that he had never stopped loving Rachel. It was easy to read; Ross was never a closed book.

"You think? I mean really, do you think that's the reason?" Ross asked, pulling Chandler closer to him by his collar before he could reply, much to his and Joey's surprise.

"Well- Dude, I-I can't really answer that _for_ you." It had become apparent that this was much more serious than either of them had previously thought. Ross

He let Chandler go, and turned to Joey, expecting an answer.

"Joe?"

"Jeez, man, don't look at me. I don't know!" He wanted to avoid it, mainly because Ross and Rachel were undecipherable to him; he'd never had a relationship like theirs, or even been in love. However, he did have an idea that if any two people were meant to be together, it was them.

Ross turned away, facing the wall behind him. His feelings were never easy to confront; ever since Rachel had walked into Central Perk almost four years ago, he had been in a torrent of emotion. Now, it had flared up again, and he couldn't think of much more than the idea of falling in love with her again. She was always special to him, and always would be. Is that not reason enough to be with her? Ross desperately needed to know.

"Do.. Do you love her?" Chandler queried, his face contorting into terror at the possible realization.

"I-" Ross whipped around, stopping the train heading for his heart, trying to think of a coherent way to express his thoughts. "I don't know. I mean, it's been over a _**year** _since we've been together. I've been married. I don't know. But, come on! There has to be a logical reason I said her name instead of Emily's, that doesn't end up with me being in love with her. It... It makes no sense!" His exclamation drew the attention of several patrons at the restaurant, but he didn't care. Ross was too busy martyring himself over Rachel, wondering why he allowed something like this to happen.

He also wondered why he began thinking about her in the first place.

Rachel was just his ex-girlfriend. His thoughts had primarily focused on Emily for months, now; however, every day, he also thought about Rachel, even if it were only for a second. She had been dormant in his mind, ready to strike when he needed a good memory to pull him from the terrible world he was living. Why, why did he think about her so much at this moment? It had been so long since he'd thought this hard about her. Not yesterday did he attempt write a poem about Emily, and now, here he was, groveling over whether or not he was in love with Rachel.

It was like a rollercoaster, and Ross wasn't buckled in.

Chandler then apprehended him from his cart, before his reverie would continue.

"Look. You two have a history together. She showed up unexpectedly, and you were excited. She was on your mind at the time, so you said her name. Jeez, man, haven't we gone over this like a million times already?" He was slightly irritated, having been bombarded with this question dozens of times after the wedding. It was crazy. Like Ross, though, he too wondered why all of this was coming up so suddenly.

"It's just... why then, y'know? Why _Rachel_?" Ross whined, remembering the scene of the wedding. The way he said her name gave off that he was in some sort of trance; a Rachel-fueled trance. His friends and family could see it, and Emily could see it, which was the worst part. No wonder it ended the way it did.

"Alright, Ross, let's take this apart, piece by piece. You had feelings for Rachel when you married Emily. _That's_ true. Okay?" Joey gave his piece, and, in a somewhat intelligent manner, he was able to pull off what he said he'd do. "You didn't love her, but you felt something for her. Right?"

"I- I don't know. Yeah, I guess." Ross admitted it; he did have feelings for Rachel, at the wedding. When she had shown up right after he kissed Emily, and they shared that hug, he felt the spark of passion that she had for him travel through the wires of his brain.

"Do you feel that now?"

Ross simply nodded, unsure of what to say. Or think. Or do. The only thing he could do was dwell on this, searching for an answer that would never be found without piercing the safest part of him- his heart. It seemed like everything either meant nothing or meant everything. It was quite a pain to deal with, but, somewhere deep inside himself, Ross knew that it would all be worth it soon enough.

"Sounds like you need to think about this."

"You're... right." Ross chuckled, slowly crawling towards an epiphany. "I'll uh, I'll do it while I'm in Russia. New York is too distracting, y'know?"

"_Rachel's _the one that's too distracting." Joey cut in.


	6. Chapter 6: Epiphany

**AN: I want to thank everyone who's been reading this.  
After all, you guys are the ones that give this story life. **

**Enjoy.**

**I do not own Friends. **

* * *

Flipping through the catalog, Rachel could only see Ross's face on the Calvin Klein models; she promptly shut it, and slammed it on the coffee table.

It had to have been the most frustrating thing in the world. She could see his face everywhere; in the sky, on the walls, or, more importantly, in herself. Rachel couldn't understand any of it. Love was such a powerful thing, and Rachel could do nothing but watch as it mercilessly toyed with her.

An enigma of the heart, where the folds unravel just so that it may be harmed; this is love.

Rachel was taught to see only what was placed in front of her, not what stood behind the mountain of lies that she sifted through in order to find the truth. Even after a new discovery, Rachel still found that nothing had changed; in fact, things had gotten worse. Nobody deserved such a torturous twist in life.

And yet, it happened every day, to too many people.

Her eyes went to the ceiling, hoping to lose herself in the soft thresh of the lavender walls. They seemed to ebb and flow like the tides, going in, and going out. Rachel knew that if she looked with but an ounce of conflict, Ross would pop up again, ruining, but secretly fueling, her volatile thought pattern.

In her mind, she could imagine a field; a field of tall grass, with dandelions floating in the gentle breeze. They would flutter like birds, and each one would land on its own patch of soil. A windmill would sit so plain in the background, where the blades would turn, accompanying the gentle river that sat beside it.

It was a beautiful scene; Rachel surprised herself on how vivid it was for a simple daydream.

She could even place herself there, walking through the grass, feeling the fresh dew coat her ankles. The soft wind grazed her skin, and the sweet aroma of the flowers graced her senses. Rachel could essentially lose herself, in this world; she could run and hide from her feelings for all eternity. However, no matter how well or how long she hid, they would catch up eventually.

There was never an escape when it came to Ross; he'd been on her mind for a good three years now, nonstop. When Chandler had revealed his hidden feelings for her, she knew that she was falling for him- hard. Harder than anyone else she had been with. Rachel had soon found out what it was like to love and not be loved back; to be at her weakest, only to be struck down. It was as unforgiving as the rest of the world, this was for sure.

But, because it was Ross, she would do it again; and again, and again.

If it were anyone else, Rachel would not even consider it.

And that, was when the light shined the brightest.

As the world she had created fell apart before her eyes, Rachel tried to run, hoping to save it; little did she know that something even more amazing and beautiful awaited her. The swirling mix of color that ripped through the fabric of her mind entranced her, giving off the sweetest sensations. She could taste the most potent honey, and the cool breeze had become a warm breath of air. The line between reality and fantasy blurred, all the while becoming one.

That, was when Rachel could see him. He stood tall, his eyes glazing over the light that had filled her dream. Ross looked so lucid, as if he'd been locked away forever only to be unleashed at this moment.

So, she ran, faster and faster, until her arms could wrap their way around him. Rachel sped straight into a wall; however, beneath his statue-like shell, held his heart. The same heart, that, at that same moment, was contesting whether or not to break free and announce his unresolved love for her. Rachel looked into his eyes, which were as lively and as beautiful as they had always been, and found the life that had been sucked from the both of them.

Then, like an exclamation point, Rachel jerked away.

"Rach?"

Monica placed her hand upon her roommate's shoulder, which brought Rachel out of the mock coma that she was falling into. After not responding to her calls when she entered the apartment, Monica became concerned; little did she know, everything was more than perfect. Rachel did jump a bit in her seat, but immediately regained herself and, although flustered, turned to face her friend.

"Huh- What?"

"You okay?" She wondered, squeezing Rachel's shoulder.

"Er- yeah. Sorry. Just uh, daydreaming." Rachel smiled, trying to dissolve any suspicion that Monica may have had. She quickly tried to think of an excuse just in case Monica held a little box of questions in her mind, as she often did; however, her thoughts were cut off yet again.

"About?"

"Um... Danny!" It was an impulse; a rather stupid one at that, although it soon became her only choice. She couldn't say Ross, as that would raise up age old questions; something Rachel did not want to deal with at the moment. Not even she knew the answers to them, yet. Monica just glared at her, except this time, there was a smile, laced with the most subtle coercion.

"Ask him out, Rach. Before I do it for you." She watched Rachel roll her eyes, but didn't care. If she was thinking about Danny this hard, it was time to act.

"I don't want to."

"God, will you just do it!" She snapped at her best friend, sick of this high-school melodrama that was happening in their lives. They've had this discussion a hundred times; all with the same outcome. Rachel didn't want to call in fear that she would come off as desperate. Monica argued that it didn't matter, as Danny wouldn't care either way. It didn't occur to her that the entire ordeal was but a mask for something deeper.

"Mon, calm down." Rachel didn't want to argue; she wanted to be left alone, to her thoughts. The cognition that ran rampant inside her head was the only thing keeping her heart in check; she'd run out and go to Ross right now if she had half a brain. But, Monica stood in the way, and now she had to be dealt with; unfortunately, this required Rachel to spill her guts.

"Do it, or I will."

"Please don't. Seriously." She pleaded with Monica to let this go. All Rachel wanted at that moment was to be left alone, to her thoughts.

"Then call him. Now." Monica's orders only managed to push Rachel farther away from the idea. It would be unfair to Danny if she ever went out with him, now; Rachel's feelings for him waned in the wake of Ross's. She could never pursue a relationship with Danny like this, nor did she _want_ to.

"I... dont't-" Rachel attempted to deny herself again, although Monica interrupted before she got the chance.

"Come on."

"I don't want to-" She was cut off again.

"_Rachel_." Monica hissed at her stubborn roommate, settling that it was now or never. She picked up the phone off of the end table, and practically shoved it in Rachel's face, which was now peaking at rage from not being able to explain her side of the story. This then manifested into words, which scared Monica.

"Will you listen to me, for **_once_**?"

In an instant, Rachel regretted lashing out like that. She was aware that Monica was only trying to help her, in her own Monica-way. Still, it was an annoyance for her to be breathing down Rachel's back, making her do something that she want to actually do. However, since Monica didn't actually know the truth, Rachel could find no better time nor reason to explain herself. She could see that Monica was shocked at her outburst, and knew that amends had to be made before something went truly wrong.

"O-Okay."

"I'm sorry, Mon." She apologized, although the fear in her roommate's eyes was still clear.

"Look, I... I don't want to date Danny." Rachel stood up, placing her hand on Monica's shoulder. Her heart was tugging in two directions, but it was clear that dating Danny was now something she didn't want to do. And while it froze Monica for a second, her answer wasn't as bad as Rachel expected.

"What? Why not?"

"I just don't, anymore." Her melancholy tone brought a new approach to this subject; obviously, there was much more than meets the eye. Rachel wouldn't just 'stop' liking Danny out of the blue, and Monica caught this. A single bit of wonder went out, but never returned; instead, Monica had to figure it out for herself.

"Why, Rachel?"

"I think you know." She laughed, only because of the way this was turning out. Rachel could feel her heart beating faster and faster like a drum, and, almost immediately, her body shivered from intense heat. Admitting her affection for Ross was the hardest thing Rachel had ever done, next to losing him; the only shred of hope that kept her strong was knowing that someday, she could be with him again.

"No... I-I don't. What are you talking about?" Monica couldn't see it, yet; she couldn't see how exposed Rachel was at that moment, from wearing her heart on her pink pajama sleeve. However, contained in her eyes were the words that she so desperately needed to get out. Luckily, Rachel's thoughts seeped out.

"You know exactly **_who_ **I'm talking about, Monica."

She lashed out at Monica again. It was becoming a habit; Rachel was so distressed about her feelings that anything would have been said that moment. Her less-than-quick wit managed to come through, this time, as her word choice happened to be exactly what she was thinking. Once Rachel spoke, her eyes shut, and she tried to bring back all of the good memories from her relationship with Ross. Their first kiss, their first date, and the first time they said 'I love you' came to mind the fastest; this was justified, as they brought the most inspiration to pull this through. Rachel could feel time slow down, just as it did at those moments, and knew that she was in love.

Her eyes opened, and looked on as Monica's face was still in shock from her cryptic declaration.

In the back of her mind, Monica held the faintest idea of what was going on, although she wanted to deny it as long as possible. It wasn't true; it couldn't be. Yet, the glistening of tears in Rachel's eyes proved otherwise. Not only was she emotionally disturbed, she now had a look of pain and longing in her eyes.

All of it, for Ross.

"I still love him."

Monica couldn't believe what she was hearing. Rachel was obviously referring to Ross, but ever fiber of her being wanted to believe otherwise. Her jaw dropped, but still, Monica persisted in living out a lie. Even when her best friend's words rung in her head, denouncing the disbelief that she still kept close, the waves crashed against her, and soon, Monica went under.

"No..." She pleaded with Rachel to stop this, to stop pushing away something that had the potential to be wonderful for Ross. While Monica always relished the idea of her brother and her best friend together, she knew that those days had passed long ago, only to return in memory. They had both moved on, or so it seemed. Still, it would be foolish to pursue a relationship out of lost feelings, let alone the consequences of getting together under such horrid circumstances. Ross's divorce wasn't even final, yet; they could not be together.

Nothing good would come out of it.

"I can't help it. I want to be with him." Rachel's face went blank, as she wandered through the swap of her mind. Monica could only watch in awe as her friend surfaced the past, and everything about it, both good and bad. She couldn't believe what was happening before her eyes. As much as Monica tried to deny it, she had to get an explanation.

"Wha... What about Danny? I thought you liked him!" She yelled, standing tall over Rachel, her hands clenching into fists as the weight of Rachel's stupidity came over her. She hated this rollercoaster that Rachel was on, which she wouldn't mind so much if her and the rest of her friends weren't along for the bumpy ride. Monica was fuming at her best friend, even though she really hadn't done anything wrong, yet.

Rachel, on the other hand, just laughed. She knew that Monica wouldn't understand; how could she? She'd never been in love with anyone, except maybe Richard. Unlike her and Ross, though, that relationship had no future. Not like theirs. Even though it failed, it could have worked, had a couple of things went differently. Rachel always wished that they had; now, more than ever.

"Do you um, do you remember the list Ross made about me?" It was time to take a shot. Even though Monica had no semblance of the love that Ross and Rachel shared, she still had the potential to accept it, which was what Rachel wanted. Neither of them wanted a rift in their friendship due to a mistake that may or may not happen due to impulse. Like Ross was with Joey and Chandler, Rachel was to Monica and Phoebe. They were all there for each other, and wanted to stop each other from making mistakes. This was what Monica was trying to accomplish, now, no matter how confused she was.

"Yeah... Why?"

Rachel slowly shook her head, and felt a tear cascade down her cheek.

"_Danny isn't Ross._"

Her voice became soft as she choked up, alluding to Ross's list. Julie had one and only drawback, and that was that she wasn't Rachel. While it was at first skewed as a mocking gesture since Chandler had misspelled Rachel's name, she realized what it truly meant only minutes later. Now, Rachel created her _own_ list, and recreated the past right before her's and Monica's eyes. She knew that those three little words said so much, and the impact behind them was nothing short of petrifying; Monica proved it with her stone gaze.

"H-He just got divorced, Rachel... You can't. This is crazy."

"The only crazy thing is that I didn't realize how much I loved him until now."

"Do you _hear_ yourself?" Monica angrily asked her, her hands planted on her hips. "He's still all depressed about Emily!" She spoke the truth, even though at that very second he was actually thinking about none other than Rachel. Still, he was reeling from the divorce, and knew that he wasn't ready to be with anyone, yet. His feelings for Rachel, however, flourished by the second; he just couldn't realize it.

"I'll take his mind off of her. I mean, this is my fault anyway."

"What? It isn't your fault!"

"Yes, Mon, it is. If I hadn't shown up at the wedding, Ross never would've said Emily's name and she wouldn't have left him." Even though Rachel could simply deny it, she had to make a case against Monica. She had to fight for her love, no matter the consequence. However, Monica's answer was not what she expected, at all.

"You being in love for Ross started all of that. You think it's going to solve anything? You're just going to mess with his head!" By shouting at her in a very Monica-tone, she managed to call Rachel's bluff. But, her statement was more than true; while Ross was already messed up, Rachel would distract him even further, which is the last thing he needed.

"No, I won't. Look. Even if he rejects me, or even hates me, I don't care. This time, I'm going to tell him before it's too late." Rachel couldn't stand the thought of Ross repeating what he had done three years ago, when he came back home with Julie. A Russian woman (or 'slut', as Rachel would put it) had just the right amount of charm to take Ross away from her, not that Rachel believed she _owned_ him. Still, it was a disturbing memory, and a part of their history that dared not to come out of the shadow.

"He's going to Russia. You'll distract him from his work." Monica pulled the ace out of her sleeve; however, it was meant to do nothing more than stall time.

"But what if he comes back with someone? Huh? I have to tell him **_now_**!"

Monica was ready to slap Rachel, but kept her hand to herself, knowing that it would only push her further to do what she wanted. It was almost like taking care of a child, taking away what they wanted. Affairs of the heart were never easy to give up, but, there really was no one to give them up anyway. Monica could see in her best friend's eyes that this was serious; shocking, but serious.

In the end, Monica needed to do the right thing.

"Look, Rach." Monica squatted down to Rachel's eye level, and smiled. "I know that I can't really stop you from doing this. But please, at least wait until he gets back, okay? For his sake? Can you do that?" Monica recalled her attempts to stop Rachel from confessing her love to Ross the first time, which failed miserably. To that end, there was really no point in continuing this tirade. Rachel could see it too, and willingly withdrew from the argument, her voice as calm as she could keep it.

"...Yeah. I can do that."

"Good." Monica rubbed her arm, trying to comfort her friend. She only wished that she could help more in the matters of love. Instead, she became 'Monica' again. "How did all of this happen, anyway? I thought you were over him!" Monica had wondered this since Rachel's revelation. Danny had been her safety net after the wedding, which, after Joshua, didn't mean much. Part of Monica realized that he, too, was just part of Rachel's plan to get over Ross.

It was unsuccessful, to say the least.

"I thought I was, too." Rachel's choked up again, and she prepared for more tears of love. "I guess... I guess I never stopped loving him, y'know? I mean, we've been through so much together. I _know_ him. I know who he is, on the inside; a caring, gentle person, who loved me for who I am."

Her words were cinnamon that escaped her lips. Rachel understood everything now, and she couldn't control what she said; it was purely from the heart. Monica listened intently, and smiled, as she watched her best friend describe the feats of the love of her life, in the most majestic way imaginable.

"When I was with him, Mon..." Rachel looked up towards the ceiling, averting the tears that were sure to come. "He made me feel like I was the only girl in the world. He gave me a reason to wake up in the morning. He gave me everything I wanted, and more. Ross is the only person who can make me whole, again. I know it. He's the only man I will ever love." It had been said before, but until now, it had no meaning. Once she had lost Ross, Rachel had denied herself the most mundane projections of their relationship. She had bottled everything up since then, and now, she could release it without fear of loss.

The only question was why _now_, of all times, did her yearning for Ross erupt like a volcano?

"How... How can you be so sure?"

"...I just am. I know it, in my heart."

Rachel calmed herself a bit, and stared at the ceiling. Her sugary blue eyes sparkled with tears, and she closed them, just fast enough to trap each and every drop of ardor that would seep from her weak and naked spirit. After a minute of silence and gentle sobbing, she looked back at Monica, who finally understood what she held for Ross.

So, as a tear made it's way down her cheek, Rachel smiled at her best friend, and basked in the warmth of her own heart.

"I _love_ him, Monica. I'm done running away from my feelings."

Monica didn't speak; there was no need to. Rachel was content with just _thinking_ about Ross, let alone attempting to get back with him. It was a beautiful thing, that they used to share together; Monica wondered if she would ever get to experience it for herself. Now that she thought about it, Chandler had just become her saving grace, and she was determined not to let their relationship fail like her friends'.

Meanwhile, in Rachel's mind, a wheel was turning. Much like the windmill in her phantasm, it fueled her to the point of bliss. It was such a weight off of her shoulders to confess her love of Ross to someone; especially Monica, who, along with Phoebe, understood her the most. She faced away from her roommate, ready to hide again; however, she allowed one more bit of sentiment to escape from her as the tears began to flow.

"No one, has ever made me feel so beautiful... Inside, and out..."

And, as the last words came out, Rachel burst into tears. It had been a perfect way to express her feelings; Rachel was even surprised that she could create something so poetic. She settled for it being a creation of love, which, in all respects, it was, and a masterpiece at that.

Trembling, Rachel continued her elucidation.

"Three years. Three years I've been in love with him." Rachel announced, her cheeks flushing. While she had ceased crying, Rachel could still feel her tears fall and stain her shirt. However, she smiled at Monica, reminiscing of the good times of when she'd fawn over Ross, even though he was with Julie. Their first kiss, on that night in the coffeehouse, was particularly memorable; everything that had happened to her could not compare to that moment.

She could still taste his lips on hers; it was the definition of immaculate.

"Huh... Where does the time go?" Monica wandered, surprised how long it's been. Rachel ignored her rhetorical question, though, and stayed in her own little world. She was more than content to fall even more in love with Ross, and fantasize about being with him again. The very thought made Rachel want to cry, again.

"I... I want to love him, forever."

Monica heard the words flow from her roommate's heart, and felt happy. That had to have been the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. For Rachel to say something like that, lost in her own heart, it just proved that so much strength could be drawn from having someone to fight for.

"Listen." Monica squeezed Rachel's shoulder, and smiled. She knew what she had to do.

"I'm here for you, alright? I support you, one-hundred percent."

"Really?" Rachel turned her head toward Monica, her tone changing to that of a child-like innocence. The tears that fell down her face belied this, however, but still, she could not appear happier than she was at that moment, gaining the approval of her closest confidanté to pursue the man of her dreams. It was the greatest gift Rachel could certainly ask for, that much was true. Now, it wouldn't be hard to convince everyone else of the same.

"Yes. Ross is my brother, and I want him to be happy. And I know that he'll be happy with you, Rach."

The sobs that had echoed across the room, now echoed in Monica's head, as she too fell for the beauty that was the love between the two dearest people in her life. Nothing like it had ever made itself known. Entire lifetimes could be spent emulating the piety of their bond, and fail. Monica wanted to see it, again; she wanted to witness the love that had taught her so much about life, how to overcome even the hardest trials, and be happy.

That, was what life was about.

"Th... Thank you."

"I know you guys'll work this out."

"I'll never let him go, again." Rachel was heartfelt; she wanted to be with Ross forever. As she had stated earlier, he was the only person she ever _wanted_ to love, even though there wasn't much of a choice when it came down to it. Still, at that moment, Rachel saw right through Monica, as if she was talking to a ghost, or, perhaps more importantly, to herself. No matter the doubt that may have clouded her, Rachel knew what was best, for her. Monica could see it as well, and placed her hand on Rachel's.

"I love you both."

She stood up, trying to take Rachel with her, but she wouldn't budge. Instead, she stayed planted in her seat.

"I'm uh, I'm gonna lay down, for a bit."

Monica simply nodded, and retreated to her bedroom. Before she made it, though, she took one last look at her friend, who stared at the wall in front of her; more specifically, the small framed picture that sat on the dresser, next to the television. It was the six of them, hugging a tree in the park; Monica was dating Richard at the time, so he snapped the picture for them. It seemed like such a long time ago, if two years counted as such. Still, it was a fond memory, mainly because everyone in the group _hated _taking pictures, so Monica never got to really display any. However, when it was all of them, together, they didn't mind so much.

Ross, of course, held Rachel; she wore a beautiful amethyst pendant that hung loosely from her neck. Ross had bought it for her after they had said their first 'I love you's following their argument over the future; it was much too valuable in sentiment to exchange due to the meaning and event behind it, so Rachel decided to keep it. It was a bit tacky when worn with most outfits, but Rachel loved it nonetheless, and she loved Ross, so she wore it most days under her clothes as a sort of charm.

Sadly, Rachel had lost it soon after they had broken up; it was one of the few things she kept to remember him by. In fact, it was probably the most memorable thing, next to a bone she kept from the museum from their first night together. When Monica made her clean her room, it was no longer in the shoebox, nor was it anywhere else in the apartment.

It was a shame, really; that pendant would have soothed Rachel immensely at that moment.

However, she settled for a tissue. She plucked one out of the box on the coffee table, and wiped away any remaining tears. Rachel curled up, hugging her knees, as she pulled a quilt over her frail, lovesick body. Her eyes were drawn to nothing, but at the same time, she could see so much. Ross, again, plagued her mind, and she wanted to scream his name into the couch cushion just to release the passion she held for him; the purest ecstasy that cleansed the fog and mist that had corrupted the deepest reaches of her heart.

Soon, she would be free.

In a matter of minutes, Rachel drifted into slumber. She was fatigued from crying; so much, in fact, that she could barely sleep at all.

In fact, she hear the doorknob turning, ten feet away. Rachel nearly had a heart attack, but as her eyes peeked over the couch, she watched as Ross came in, luggage behind him. Instantly, a wave of relief washed over her; however, the anxiety remained.

"Hey, Rach." Ross furrowed his brow at her, concerned as to why she was trying to hide. "You okay?" He walked over to her, his brown loafers shuffling on the hardwood floor. She absorbed every detail of him in a second, like it was second nature; it wasn't. His beige colored suit, the sky-blue plaid shirt beneath it, and the long, wavy locks of hair that hung down the sides of his head. All of these small little details burned in Rachel's mind, for some ungodly reason.

"Y-Yeah." She smiled, and hastily stood up, trying to remain calm.

"Is uh, Monica here?" Ross twiddled his thumbs, ready to leave. He had a cab waiting downstairs to take him to the airport, and he couldn't leave without saying goodbye to his friends; his sister, especially, as he needed to leave a list of Thanksgiving food for her to leave when he got back. To answer his question, Rachel pointed towards her roommate's bedroom.

"Mon!"

"You're going?" Monica rushed out of room, now wearing a jacket.

"Yeah. I already said goodbye to the guys and uh, Phoebe, so.." Ross stopped by the coffeehouse on the way home from the pizzeria, where Phoebe was playing; Joey and Chandler decided to stay there while Ross came back to the apartment to say goodbye to the girls.

"Take care, alright? And Happy Thanksgiving." Monica hugged Ross, still upset that he had to miss Thanksgiving. It was just unfair, especially now that there was more than one reason for him not to go. However, everything had been settled already, so there was no longer any reason to fight it.

"You, too. Save me some turkey, alright? And make me one of those uh, sandwiches."

"Got it."

"Okay, bye." He hugged Monica, and she smiled sheepishly at the idea of him reacting to Rachel's confession of her love. Ross had no idea what was in store for him when he got back, even though he had his own mental battle going on at that moment.

"Bye."

"Bye, Rach." He went over to his former lover and hugged her as well; a bit harder than he intended, due to his conflicting feelings. Rachel didn't mind in the least, though. In fact, she enjoyed the safety that had been lost for so long. It felt nice, to be in Ross's arms again; she'd stay there forever, if she could. He was a shield for Rachel, from everything that would harm her.

"B-Bye."

Her voice trembled, as he let go of her. Rachel wanted to hug him again, and never let him go. But, as always, it was too late; she could only watch him walk through the door, stepping out of her life again. Ross turned around and gave one last look before he left, smiling weakly at both of them. Monica waved, but Rachel could do nothing more than slump back on the couch, groaning in emotional agony.

_Two weeks. _

Two weeks, without Ross.

It would be torture, not seeing him for that long. How could Rachel deal without him? She trudged through the thick when he went to China, but now, it wold be much harder. Her feelings had been deciphered, over and over again. She loved him. She needed him.

Monica sat down next to Rachel, hoping to comfort her; this time, though, there was nothing she could do. All Rachel could do to cope was wait for Ross to come back, to tell him. In the meantime, she had to suppress her feelings; she had to find out if this was really what she wanted. Rachel could only hope that whatever course of action fate had charted for her, it would be the correct one.

So, with her eyes on the door, silently hoping he would come back, Rachel pulled the last thing about Ross she could remember: His smile.

A smile, that she would never forget.


	7. Chapter 7: The One

**AN: Well, as much as I wanted to have this story be only 20 chapters or so, I'm afraid it just isn't going to happen.  
More than likely this will end up as long or even longer as Hope, considering everything I have planned to make this story good.**  
**I'm sorry if you guys don't like that.**

**If you do, then awesome.**

**I promised this story will outshine Hope, and I intend to deliver.**

**Also, guys, I'd love it if more of you reviewed, even if it's to tell me I suck. I love your feedback more than anything else.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Every last person held a story; they, too, had scars that they wore and baggage that they carried, day after day.

What made _him_ so special?

That, was what scared Ross the most. He couldn't imagine a different set of difficulties in his life, let alone live them. Why did it have to be such a painful thought, wondering what others had to go through in order to be happy? Did they not aspire the same way he did? Did they not try their hardest when the world turned bleak before them?

But he, too, strove to be happy.

Perhaps, there wasn't enough happiness to go around.

Compared to the rest of the world, his problems were horribly insignificant. Ross had more than most could ever dream of; a home, a well-paying job, and most of all, wonderful friends and family, whom he could turn to when the light turned away.

Yet, here he was, drowning in his own pool of own sorrow; sorrow that sprung from a tug-of-war that joyfully ripped the seams of his heart, salting the wounds that had been so freshly scabbed over. The hardest part, though, was not knowing what he truly wanted. There was nothing left for Ross to build on, and, even if there were, he'd have to start from scratch.

He just didn't have the willpower to do that, anymore.

Every man, woman, and child that walked the streets of New York that morning had dreams; goals that they had to fulfill in order to be happy. How did they manage to stay strong? What were they doing that he wasn't? Ross imagined an easier way to cope with all of this; it had to be easier than simply moping around, hoping his feelings would be as black-and-white as they never were. Nothing was clear when it came to the affairs of the heart, especially when it came to something so delicate as this.

Silently, Ross weighed his situation; the closer and closer he got to the airport, and the subsequent escape from his downtrodden life, the easier it became.

Emily was gone, now; that was obvious. Their marriage had crumbled like sand in his fist, running through his fingers and blowing away with the wind. It was one less thing to worry about, from an objective standpoint; while Ross still wasn't completely over her, he knew that sulking over Emily was totally counterproductive, and a waste of time and energy. She wasn't coming back; he knew this. And yet, there was still a piece of him that clung to her, much in the same way it clung to Rachel.

Like many break-ups, the hope of getting back together with either of them faded with time.

Still, Ross could admit that he loved Emily. He even went so far as to firmly believe that if he hadn't messed it up, their relationship would still be going strong. Of course, getting married as fast as they did was a kiss of death, but with Emily, Ross was happy. He finally had everything he could want, when he was with her; he had the tools necessary to get over Rachel, and get on with his life.

Now, all of that was gone, and Ross was right back to square one; this time, with even less than he started with.

_Life just wasn't fair._

However, it was, once again, up to Ross to take action. He had to fix all of this, and he had to do it alone. His friends could only do so much for him, and they'd done more than enough already. The way his heart wretched and sank every hour from unraveling passion told him everything he needed to know.

Thinking about Rachel was not a curse, regardless of how much Ross wanted it to be. Instead, it was a sign; a sign on the fork of the road that led him down two different paths of his own heart. In one hand, he could pursue a relationship with her, again. Relive the love that he could call true, as straight as Cupid's arrow, but also freshen the old wounds that still stung to this very day, under the cold light of the New York winter. Was that really what he wanted? Granted, their relationship was strong, like a bull; it only ended once the horns had been cut off in several swift cuts, unlike the slow and painful dulling that happened with most couples.

But, was it the _smart_ choice?

Ross had the answer in the palm of his hand, but did not want to see it for himself.

The healthiest thing he could possibly do was forget about Emily and Rachel, and find someone else. They were the past; he had to look toward the future. However, whether or not his future contained either of them (mainly Rachel) was still unclear. It would be so easy to just fall back into that safety net, where Ross was sure to be happy again.

However, the aberrations of days gone by would still haunt him at night, where'd he writhe even in the arms of his beloved.

The only question was, was it worth it? Was it worth it to go back to Rachel, and mend the cracks that eroded into the concrete dam of their relationship, risking his sanity to be with a woman who may or may not have forgiven him?

Before he could go further, the cab screeched to a halt. Ross came back to reality, and, seeing the driver's eyes in the rearview mirror and the amount he had to pay for his fare, reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of dollars. Distracted, he clumsily handed the bundle of ones to the man.

Exiting the cab, Ross exhaled heavily, running his fingers through his wavy black hair. He was convinced that he had finally gone crazy. This had to have been the most unusual thing, thinking about Rachel while just getting divorced and evicted. It didn't make any sense. Emily should have been the one dominating his thoughts, if at all. Not Rachel. Why did this have to ravage him so much? It was total anguish to remember so many things at once, in such a depraved state. Why couldn't he just _forget_ all of it, like his computer, and his common sense, told him to?

Ross shook his head, conceding that he was getting nowhere. He humbly took his briefcase from his seat, and retrieved his suitcase from the trunk of the taxi, before making his way through the gate and onto the tarmac, where his boss, Donald, waited along with what appeared to be two other scientists. They stood in front large business jet, with the words _Dassault Aviation_ plastered on the tail. Ross couldn't believe how big it was, and yet it seemed to only carry a few passengers. More than likely, it was to hold more fuel for the trip.

His approach was greeted by Dr. Ledbetter, who waved him over.

"Dr. Ledbetter!" Ross sat his luggage upright, and reached his hand out to shake his boss's hand. He glanced at the other scientists, although he tried to keep his attention away, mainly because one of them happened to be absolutely beautiful, and he couldn't afford to be captivated.

"Dr. Geller." Donald smiled, his gruff voice simultaneously introducing him to the two other figures in the group.

"I'd like you to meet Dr. Michelle Rios."

"Hello." The young asian woman standing next to Donald reached her dainty hand out to Ross, which he anxiously shook, almost crushing it.. Her voice was the sweetest candy, and her eyes- they reminded Ross of newborn puppies. She couldn't have been over 5'3", and her dark skin accentuated the glow that was given off by her cat-like hazel eyes. Even though she was practically buried under her black wool sweater, Ross could tell she was also not lacking in the chest department, either; something he shamefully regretted noticing.

"And this, is Dr. Kenneth Gagnon." Ross managed to pull his attention away from the goddess in front of him, and turned to face the man next to her. He was a near opposite of his partner, towering over Ross, and his alabaster skin was a stark contrast to her's. His bronzed hair was spiked up, only adding to this notion. He wore a white collared shirt beneath a yellow fleece sweater, with black slacks; if the hair was different, Ross could swear he was looking at Albert Einstein, based on how this man was dressed. They silently but firmly shook hands, proving that they were as weak as each other.

"They're fellow paleontologists. They'll be accompanying us to Russia."

Ross nodded, and shared looks with his associates. He meekly smiled at Michelle, again noticing how stunning she looked. Her skirt, which went down to her mid-calf, hugged her legs, and Ross could swear he could feel his blood flowing. She was quite the bombshell.

However, it wasn't so much lust, as it was pure awe of her beauty.

It reminded him of Rachel, the first time he laid eyes on her.

"Well, shall we?" Donald gestured toward the airplane, which now had runway stairs leading into the inside of the plane.

The four of them made their way up the stairs and into the brightly-lit cabin. As he ducked his head inside, Ross was completely astonished at the luxury of this flying palace. There was what appeared to be a living room situated at the front of the plane; two sofas faced each other over a glass coffee table, with a television mounted between the two doors to the cockpit. Each seat was more or less a cubicle; there was a desk, complete with drawers and stationery for every need. A fold-out bed was hidden in the fuselage, with the sheets already laid out. There was even a cute little chair to sit in, and a curtain for privacy.

Much better than the business-class trip to China, by far.

Ross's luggage was taken by a burly man in a uniform resembling that of a bellhop, although he'd never seen such a thing at an airport, of all places. Nervously, he followed the others' leads and sat on one of the milky-white couches, next to none other than Michelle, but he did his best to ignore her. It was so comfortable; it reminded him of the barcaloungers in the apartment. A comely stewardess arrived and offered to take their orders lunch for when they were in the air, in her thick yet attractive Russian accent. While the other three ordered something rather expensive and delectable, Ross refused eating any meal on the plane; the last thing on his mind was eating, especially after the rather disturbing revelations he had during breakfast with Joey and Chandler earlier that morning. Whatever high-class dining they served would certainly make him sick, and he didn't want the cooks to hate him.

However, he could go for a drink or two.

Anything to help him forget.

Contrary to what was previously believed, they didn't discuss the trip, or anything paleontology-related for that matter; instead, the four of them talked about themselves. Where they went to school, their latest research, etc. Ross had figured that Donald had already explained everything to him in-depth at the museum; the part he was needed for was pretty minimal, in that all he really needed to do was match current fossil data to several bones they'd found outside Moscow and determine what species - if any - that the fossils belonged to. However, Donald had promised a supervising spot on a dig that they would be co-funding in the near future, so Ross had something to be excited about, at least.

While the others chatted, though, Ross blurred in and out of his own world, able to keep the illusion that he was still there. He couldn't hear much other than the voice in his head telling him what to do, or what to feel; even worse, not even that voice knew what to do. It, too, was astray in the flames of chaos. Why, did it have to be so hard to be happy? Why did life have to throw a hook at every corner, and leave decent people on the ground, bleeding? Every bruise was a memory, and Ross didn't deserve to be covered in them. Or, maybe, he did, but still, it was punishment enough to just kill his heart and rip it out of him. Now, he had lost his home? It wasn't right. No one deserved to be pushed to the brink in such a way. He was dangling off of a metaphorical cliff, and watched as all but one of his fingers reluctantly let go; the only link of the chain of his spirit that still held on, keeping him from plummeting to the jagged rocks below.

That link, was Rachel.

As he began to deny this, Ross could barely hear the announcement to strap-in for takeoff, let alone follow it; thankfully, the flight service was kind enough to guide him to his seat in the back. Buckling in, he braced the armrests as though his life depended on it, alluding to the cliff. The earthquake that rattled his mind rumbled through his entire body, as the jet sped off the runway.

As the plane tilted upwards toward the vast cloud-coated sky, Ross felt his heart sink in his chest.

What did he _want_?

Rachel? Emily? The sexy paleontologist in the seat in front of him? No one, at all?

To be spared of the suffering that came with the break-up of a relationship, was to be spared of the history that could be written along the way. Ross agreed that it was better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. However, as with everything, there was a limit; exceed, and the suffering will intensify. The circle of life dictated over and over again that such a pain was a part of life, but all Ross could do was wonder:

_Why_?

Everything that Ross had contemplated up until now was totally wiped away. Such a broad and expansive question held a universe behind it, brimming with emotion and tales of the unknown, of which no one should be allowed to see. The solutions to every trouble that saturated life hid behind a simple padlock, yet no key would ever be found for a thousand lifetimes, if even then. It was a mystery not meant to be solved.

So, as the walls came down, a clean slate of rusted iron was all that remained, as Ross took a journey away from the life that had failed him.

Perhaps, five thousand miles away from the heart-clenching memories that plagued his weary soul, he would find peace.

"Would you like a hot towel, sir?"

Slowly drawn out of his chimera, Ross's eyes shot up toward the ceiling of the aircraft, but were stopped along the way by a stewardess' eager gaze. How long had he been out of touch? Seconds? Minutes? He couldn't feel the gravity shift anymore. They had to be airborne.

"Sir?" Compared to her colleague's, this woman's accent was American. Her voice was also very tender, again, reminding him of Rachel. Ross couldn't even trust his own ears anymore, the way they twisted and betrayed him like this. Still, they did enough to keep him from going mad, so he had to be thankful for that.

"N-No. Thank you." Ross stuttered, losing an internal battle.

"Just ring if you need anything, sir." With a smile, the woman pointed above him, to the panel of buttons that controlled things like light and air conditioning. One that read 'Call attendant' stood boldly out to the side, obviously placed for ease-of-access. Ross nodded at the woman, and watched her as she returned to the back of the plane. He could swear that her nametag read 'Rachel', even though he knew better.

_Is this what insanity felt like?_

Ross curiously pressed the button, and, soon enough, the woman appeared again, smiling again. He glanced at her nametag, which read 'Miranda', and knew that he hadn't lost it, yet.

"Yes, sir?"

"Yeah, um, how long is the flight?" Ross knew that it was going to be long, and considering how fast these planes usually went, it could take an excess of sixteen hours. He was glad he took a couple of sedatives with him; not only to sleep well, but to also avoid any intrusive thoughts that would wade their way inside him. He couldn't think about Rachel if he was knocked out, could he?

"It's a ten hour flight, with a thirty-minute refueling in Copenhagen." She did what seemed to a combination of a bow and a curtsy, as if she was apologizing for something. Of course, being new to the position, there was a certain shield that had be broken before turning into one of those flight attendants that slept with the pilots.

"Okay. Thanks." As Miranda turned away, Ross made one last request. "Can um- can I have some water?"

She briskly walked back into the kitchen, and returned with water in a crystal-patterned glass. Ross still couldn't believe how fancy all of this was. Even better, soon he'd be able to sleep stretched out under warm sheets, flying at six-hundred miles per hour, without a single thought of Rachel entering his mind. It was strange, how the thought of her made him feel so good and so terrible at the same time. She always made him feel like that, and yet, this was the first time he chose to run.

The truth was, Ross was scared. In the back of his mind, the answers he was seeking for stood tall, and deliberately crept forward, waiting for him to accept the truth. What laid behind the closed doors of Ross's heart was what he had feared all along; all he could do was either face it, or run.

Without further ado, Ross dug into his briefcase and took out a small bottle of Melatonin. He quickly popped two white tablets into his hand, along with six more inside the cap, coming to a grand total of forty milligrams; the bottle didn't tell him exactly how much to take, but as Ross figured, the more the better. After all, he was desperate to relieve himself of this agonizing mental torture.

As he swallowed the tasteless pills, pair by pair, Ross's eyes glazed over the bottle last time, landing on the small barrier of vertical text that sat on the end of the label. Squinting, he could only make out the last sentence, but when he did, he nearly had a heart attack.

_May cause vivid dreams._

And in those dreams, contained just what he was trying to run from; Rachel.

His love, for Rachel.

Shutting his eyes, Ross made one last ditch effort to deny his feelings. Fate, however, had other plans. Instead, he saw her face beneath his eyelids; the face that he had kissed a million times, where each peck and smooch felt like the first. He also saw her heart; the heart, that he at one time could cradle in his hands and call his. Her sky-blue eyes, that sparkled in the sun, had never been clearer than at that moment, where his affection radiated from the darkest depths of his shattered soul. The burning pages of his life were put out by her smooth, gentle fingers, and soon, he took her hand, and stood upon the edge once more.

That, was when Ross faced himself.

He had not accepted his feelings, yet. They had taken quite a toll on his sanity, pushing and pulling the way it did, toward what was allegedly torment disguised as bliss. It toyed with Ross, just as it did with Rachel. She could not find him through the sea of doubt until the purity of her mind matched the purity of her soul; and it was her, and her alone, that could achieve such a feat, built on the inspiration of the man she loved. Through all of it, they had learned one crucial lesson.

They could not live the lives they wanted, without each other.

It really was a circle, and for the first time in so long, the spiraling had stopped. Ross knew what had to do; he had to talk to Rachel. He had to admit to her, and himself, that he had never stopped loving her much in the same way she had never stopped loving him.

However, there were so many things to sort out, first. Ross needed to recover from the grief that Emily had caused him, before he could ever think of reviving the past with Rachel; that much was for certain. It could take weeks; _**months**_, even. But Ross was willing to do it to be happy. Nothing mattered more to him than making sure that he would not hurt Rachel again, and he could not do that while a divorce decree remained blank. It would long path to walk, but Ross would do it.

Part of him wished that he'd learned from Rachel, and said the right name at his wedding. But, in his heart, Ross knew now that he wouldn't be happy even if he did say the right name. He knew from experience that conflicting thoughts had the potential to ruin a relationship in the blink of an eye.

Rachel was the one; no one else. Not Emily, not Michelle, not Miranda, no one. She was the only woman he needed.

As he realized all of this, Ross became a little surprised that he had come to a conclusion so fast; he had expected to take the entire two weeks to think it over, but apparently, Ross had channeled his anger and despair into something more powerful than he had ever imagined. At this rate, his mind would be cleansed of all the negativity and he could finally focus on work, the one thing that hadn't been wantonly taken from him.

For once, the skies were blue. The grass was green. The petals on the roses of their hearts bloomed like never before, ushering in a new era; an era of hope, that would spring eternal in the face of adversity. Ross had always wondered what it would be like to live a harder life, but, with Rachel, and all his friends at his side, anything was possible.

Before he drifted off into crazy-nightmare land, Ross laughed to himself, as he remembered the day before. Waking up to his computer; the word 'forget' blazing itself on the screen, flashing before the typing indicator.

Forget, Ross did; however, one part of him could never be forgotten, and her name was Rachel.

So, finally accepting his feelings, Ross entered slumber, Rachel's face being the last thing he saw.


	8. Chapter 8: Awakening

**AN: Again, I'm sorry this took so long to update.  
Losing the will to write is an ill-fated battle.**

**I also have college to deal with now, so I'm afraid the next update may take longer; forgive me.**

* * *

As the cobblestone path stretched nigh-on forever, Ross walked, faster and faster, waiting for his knees to give out.

The surrounding darkness proved to be more demoralizing as time went on; a black shroud of haunting mystery that concealed the most lurid enigmas. Pandora's Box sat so high and proud upon its pedestal, and yet no one could see that past its nature, in the end, allowing the secrets within to escape was more frightening to them than the secrets themselves.

What sanity could be lost in this outbreak?

_Is Hell our world, or the one beyond?_

Ross could not fathom it. He was just another soul, drifting across the tragic poems of life, written by the hands of fate. Every blade of grass in the fields of his heart told a different story; a different outlook on what life should be like. Indeed, chaos was necessary for order, but which one gave a happier ending in this fairytale?

Which loom, held the weave of truth?

Which weave, carried the threads of love?

_None._

It had to be created. It had to be forged from the hands of those who would desire it; Ross was no exception. Life never handed him anything, except his friends, and they had done their part for him. Because of this, a glimmer of light appeared through the smoke, and even if he did nothing, it would come to him.

But he wouldn't do _nothing_; it wasn't who he was.

So, Ross walked the road before him. It twisted and turned, contorting every which way, hoping to throw him off into the gorge below, where his demons would imprison him, forever. If locked in a cage of his own madness, however, Ross would not feel the agony of life crushing him in its cold steel claws; unfortunately, it would eventually be ripped apart by his infuriating logical temperament.

The curse of a wandering mind was too much to bear.

Ross wanted to rip his own entrails out. He knew it to be true; if he had just kept focus, clamping shut everything loose thought that had entered his mind, he would not have blurted out Rachel's name at the wedding. In fact, he probably wouldn't have lost Rachel in the first place, had his brain stayed on one, faithful track during the wake of their separation.

It was disgusting; _he_ was disgusting.

If Ross could run, he would run forever.

His eyes averted to the walkway beneath his feet, where black boots shuffled over the stones of darkened memories. Evoking the past was usually the worst idea, but, with the delight of Rachel's love swirling across him, Ross wanted nothing more than to clutch her hands in his, look into her eyes, and whisper the three words that carried his heart on a cloud of bliss.

_I love you._

_I've always loved you._

_I will never stop loving you._

His feelings had never been so clear. The strings that tugged on his heart flung open, like wings on a butterfly. Freedom was imminent; Ross could feel all of his pain melted away, just from one thought of the woman that gave him strength beyond strength.

It was beautiful; it was love.

Under his breath, Ross whispered her name, and the emotional tension that ripped him apart dissipated instantly.

Noticing a mirror form beyond his view, Ross looked up; it would shine in even the thickest smokescreen, each glint of fabricated light dancing upon the silver. Ross could see himself, as the broken man that he had been for too long. His skin wrinkled, his hair whitened, and dark bags formed beneath his eyes.

_Death, walking._

Ross glared into his lost and soulless eyes, and watched as the glass shattered before him, each fragmented piece holding a bitter memory. The sharp, metallic edges - the jagged contours that stung with a poisonous sting; his blood had stained them for too long, now.

These pages of history needed to burn, and the ashes tossed into the wind, where they may finally be forgotten.

_Rachel is the fire._

That fire, burned in Ross's heart, as well; however, the crackling embers of the dying flames had yet to melt the ice that had encapsulated his heart. A single wisp of breath escaping from the lips of his angel held more heat than a thousand suns, and would more than suffice to bringing life to a barren wasteland.

Every step was a step toward recovery.

So, Ross jumped over the hurdle that stood in front of him, and as he took that first step into the unknown, the crunching of the corrupted metal beneath his feet became a symphony of hope in the eerie silence of darkness. A symbol that destiny is molded by the hands of those who loved their life enough to change it.

Because of his friends, Ross loved his life, no matter how bad it may be.

In the midst of the glooming shades that he stood in, Ross witnessed his revelation come to life; the path had ended, and his reward waited for him, arms open, with a smile so inviting. It would be wrong to say no to something so beautiful.

But as their arms took to each other, Ross could feel the strangest feeling. It was a heavy weight, that fell upon his entire body. Convulsions rocked him, and yet his arms never left Rachel's soft and tender frame. She did not move, nor did she breathe; it dawned on Ross that she may have died, in his cold and waiting arms.

A sin so abhorrent would not be forgiven.

However, Ross did not let go.

He would never let go again.

A small and cursory kiss would be the apple that fell high from the heavens above; however, Ross would not defile his beloved like that. Rachel deserved to be held like a diamond and appreciated, long before any lips may be graced by hers. She was a wax sculpture, in a hall of mannequins. A gold medal, in a sea of bronze.

A taste, not soon forgotten.

His lips parted, but before Ross could brush her delicate skin, the waters of adversity filled his lungs. Thick and murky, tasting like the foulest death. Ross could only laugh through the pain of his body collapsing, finding it ironic that he would die by drowning in his own tainted and unnatural love for Rachel; the same love that had given him life. The same love he had only just rediscovered, and chose to stand by forever.

Deep in his frail heart, Ross knew that weathering the storm would be worth it. The sound of his bones crushing beneath the floods of the pale horses was excruciating, but, no matter how much it hurt, Ross still clung to his beloved tightly. His hands balled into fists; so hard that blood began to trickle and crawl down Rachel's back, cascading down her legs like tiny red ribbons.

Life had a way of screaming painful and once-forgotten memories back into the hearts of the broken; now, as Ross watched his blood fall to Rachel's feet, it did just that. The shameful and horrid things that he had done pulsed through every inch of his brain, and soon, his mind became a living, breathing monster. It violently thumped against his skull, beating faster and faster as a metronome of insanity.

Nothing but the abyss laid ahead, now. Total darkness, symbolising the unknown, the future; the blank pages of life, yet to be stained by the ink of love.

With Rachel in his arms, Ross did not know fear.

A single step forward, and they fell into grace; the water that asphyxiated Ross now sparkled in the light of Rachel's beautiful and beaming blue eyes, giving back the life it had taken. Ross awoke from the heavens above, where his beloved sat in his arms, just as she did that very moment.

No truer testament to his heart's needs had been forged.

Ross wished to gaze into her eyes, once more. Even if the image of their perfection would be lost as the dream died, it would be worth it to see their beauty as machinations of his own mind, instead of having it force-fed to him while being awake and **_miserable_**. Of course, he loved Rachel's eyes; he could swim in them, forever. But when his mind was a battlefield, dead memories strewn across the war-torn soil, the last thing Ross needed was to lose himself even more by staring into the soul of a goddess.

Free of the chains that bound him, Ross slowly pulled away from Rachel. Time seemed to stop, as the smallest glimpse of blue caught his eye. Ross savored it like a sweet candy; he could not go any farther without appreciating every tiny thing about Rachel, and imprinting it into his memory. Her soft skin, her flaxen hair, her **_eyes_**, her supermodel body; that was only the surface.

No amount of lifetimes could be spent detailing what laid underneath.

However, Ross gave it a shot.

It took but a second, for his mind to flood with brilliant bliss.

_Sublime._

The sinful, yet honeyed indulgence that was Rachel made Ross tremble in his boots. She is, and always has been, rapture. It did not truly occur to him how lucky he was, to have touched, kissed, and made love to Rachel Green; the most beautiful woman in the world.

_Flawless._

Like the Mona Lisa, or the Statue of David, Rachel was art. No cracks marred her skin; no darkness, eclipsed her light. For her beauty alone, she deserved a throne made of gold, and a shower of the finest gems rained at her sides. No less than a treatment fit for a queen. Her diamonds were outshone only by her complexion.

_Immaculate._

The holiest of angels did not hold a candle to her. Rachel was not just a pretty face; she was kind, caring, and sweet to all of her friends. The people she cared about came before her, no matter how boorish she acted. Her purity and unsullied heart made for the loveliest medley.

_But, most of all, beautiful._

An accurate depiction. Ross usually had a million ways to say the same thing, but when it came Rachel, his mind was blank. All he could count on was his heart, and, more often than not, it delivered. The essence of love that flowed from him contained such a powerful beacon, even Rachel could swear that she felt it coursing through her veins. Such a feeling could not be replicated; not until they were with each other once more.

Ross couldn't wait to forget Emily.

And now, as their bearings were set, Ross stepped away, watching as each sparkle in Rachel's eyes multiplied in the dense moonlight that engulfed both of them. He did not pull away, anymore; nor could he if he tried. The chains had returned, now pulling him forward into Oblivion.

Bound like an animal, Ross kept his gaze locked to the interlocking pools of mirth in Rachel's creamy blue irises; the same seas he had bathed in, for so many years.

Now, those very waters filled his lungs again, choking the life from his fresh heart. The glimmering stars in Rachel's eyes began dancing wildly, blurring into eachother, zooming in and out of focus with flair and panache. It was surreal, even for a dream; Ross watched as his memories dangled like puppets from the hell inside his own head.

Soon, the gleaming sparks dissolved into nothingness, and Rachel with them.

Ross was alone, again.

And yet, he was free, in a way; the bubble that trapped him now proved to be a minimal challenge to the dungeon he had just faced. His arms and legs were functional once more, and they flailed like a newborn baby's, hoping to find some avenue of escape.

Luckily, Ross was able to slip right out.

However, he was not greeted to his beloved, nor to any pretty sight at all. Instead, all that sat in front of Ross were jagged rock walls, hazed dark blue by the drops of water that fogged his eyes and subsequently ran down his skin, as if he had just stepped out of the shower. His first instinct was not to observe his foreign surrounds, but to walk forward, as he had done all this time; but even the slightest movement was bogged down by the spring he stood in.

It soon struck Ross that he had been laying face-down in the water for quite a long time; long enough for him to realize that all of this was just a dream. A very vivid one, to say the least. The warning label on his bottle of Melatonin tablets was apparently not kidding.

Still, Ross did not wish to wake up, yet. He wanted - no, **_needed_ **- to explore everything he possibly could about his psyche, and himself, no matter how much sense it did or did not make. Logic was now made irrelevant; after all, it was a dream, and dreams had a way of twisting things.

But a daunting fact made itself clear: Ross was treading on very dangerous ground. His darkest fears were veiled by the thinnest barriers, ready to be freed from their cells at even the smallest mental tic. If something on that grand of a scale were to happen, the thought of Rachel wasn't going to be enough.

It was more than unsettling, but it did not stop Ross from doing it.

Ever so gently, he allowed his fingers to run over the contours and valleys of the coarse wall. So many secrets could have been held in those little pockets of nothing, ready to leap into the wells of emotion that Ross dug deep into his soul. It was a mission, more or less, to find the source of the strength that keeps going even when all hope is lost.

Minutes passed, but nothing happened. Ross was sure that he was spiraling into madness. The rough edges of the rock began to dull at an alarming pace, with years of erosion manifesting in mere seconds. It was quite a sight, actually; Ross was no geologist, nor did he have any interest in the field outside of association with his own, but the fruits of labor the Earth gifted itself was beautiful. Even in his dream, he knew it to be true.

Crushing the edged remnants of the jagged rock in his hand, Ross closed his eyes, allowing the dust in his fist to fall into the waters below.

_Nothing._

There was nothing here - not in the water, or on the walls, or in the moonlight peaking through the hole above.

This cave of false hope was just another cell to lock him in, to keep the darkness he had brewed deep away. Ross was treated as nothing more than an animal, and in his own dreams, no less. Why did it have to be so hard to figure himself out? Why did a trap lay at every corner?

Better yet, why did he do this to himself?

Ross fathomed it, for what seemed like lifetimes ago; he built these walls. He built them strong enough so that they'd never fall; not even by his own hand. He let all of these emotions run wild, like buffalo on the plains, enticed by his own heart to think that they were better off unchecked. They took everything, and shoved it so far back into his mind, that bringing them back would be a damning effort. Least of all, they had to traverse a calloused road, built on the threads of insanity; the same road Ross had just stepped off of.

Maybe, it wasn't worth it.

On cue, Rachel's voice echoed in his head.

_Maybe, it was_.

Either way, Ross would not get this chance again; it was the gamble of a lifetime.

Quietly, he breathed her name. It trickled off of his tongue, like a cherry gently rolling down a mountain of sand. Ross's heated breath came as a vapor in the cold, and even in this prison, he could appreciate her beauty as if she stood before him, eyes radiating piety.

But, that had been Ross's last mistake. Allowing Rachel to dominate him, to control him just as he controlled her. Just the thought, and he made himself weak; weak enough to break from this cage, but also weak enough to do nothing but watch as his memories ripped him apart.

It felt like a thousand steel knives, thrusting into his stomach. Ross doubled over in pain, laughing; it had been said that even a forceful smile or laugh can alleviate negative emotions, if only a little bit. But still, it wasn't enough to do anything. The tears that welled from the agony fell like pebbles into the spring, each holding a part of him he couldn't bear to lose.

Then, it hit him; Ross wasn't supposed to fight. He wasn't supposed to quest for his dark secrets; they were supposed to haunt him, just as they did to others. The easy way, taking his lumps; that only bruised the fabric of his apperception, leaving him open to an all-out attack. It happened with Carol, it happened with Rachel, and it happened with Emily. The same blunder, thrice. How stupid could he have been, to not see this? To be locked in conflict, that was the fate that all held, and Ross was no exception.

Yet, love had a way of breaking unwritten rules.

And it took the thought of his friends, and especially Rachel, to make Ross feel loved again.

Once the pain had dulled, and his thoughts returned, they too softened under the grinding edge of Ross's hands. He turned around, hoping to find Rachel in the stead of the moonlight, but was let down quite hard. As usual, Ross was alone. Loneliness seemed to follow him like a storm cloud, and even when relief came, it left much too fast.

But Ross didn't let that bother him, now. He stood tall, letting the rays of the moon coat his body like a blanket. The light felt nice, even though it was the moon and not the sun. After being shrouded in the shadows for too long, though, Ross was ready to take anything.

His thoughts drifted, as they often did, and he came upon a set of memories that stood out between the lines: It was the dream he had, where he ran through the forest in the snow. Ross had forgotten about it until now, where it puzzled him as to why he would have such an strange little nightmare.

Ross then ran through the sequence of events, as best he could.

_Running_.

Ross heaved through the pine thicket for the good of his life; something dangerous sped toward him, and it was catching up. Whether it was an animal, or his own life, he couldn't recall. All he knew was that if he stopped, there would be no time to regret it.

The white, heavy sheets of snow beneath his feet impeded him greatly, causing him to almost slip up at every step. Ross jumped and leapt wherever he could, like an acrobat of nature, but for some reason, it hurt more and more each time. Huffing and puffing, Ross knew he couldn't keep this up for long.

His suit tore at the bark of the trees, but that soon became the least of his worries.

A heart-stopping roar of anger shook the ground, and Ross knew what chased him. Not much else on Earth sounded as ferocious as a grizzly bear protecting its cubs; not that Ross even knew that he was anywhere near them. Who would've thought that years of the Discovery Channel would come back to bite him?

The roar distracted Ross enough for him to mess up his footing, and he hit the ground, face-first. Death certainly approached quickly, and he faced it alone; all he could do was wait for the world to break apart, again. Chunks of glass, floating upwards into darkness; like the tears in the spring, these too held a part of him. However, the golden lock of hair that sat in front of him before, no longer graced him now.

It was a shame; that was the most memorable part of the dream, finding Rachel in the wake of doom.

Ever so softly, Ross closed his eyes, letting his life fall apart only to return to it seconds later.

The sound of glass shattering pierced his ears, but Ross was happy. He found Rachel again, and was ready to move on with his life. To be free of these chains was good, but Rachel was the ultimate reward. She waited for him, too, and was ready to accept his love the minute he got home. It was perfect. Everything was perfect.

The sound of more glass breaking graced him, but it sounded louder.

The bear did not catch him, but instead, it wailed as though it were dying.

Then, it did.

And as his eyes shot open, Ross knew that he wasn't dreaming at all.


End file.
